To Lose My Life
by nowarning23
Summary: After a devastating betrayal, Arthur & Ariadne are forced into a dangerous job, watching their relationship & humanity crumble away... How far would you go to save the one you love? (Slow beginning; gets better, or so I've been told)
1. This Must Be The Place

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**This story IS finished, but I'm waiting to see if there is any interest before I post more. It gets more interesting, I'd say. Title comes from the White Lies song, which kind of inspired the whole thing.**

***Madame Durant and Sadie are mine, I guess. Chapter title courtesy of Talking Heads. Look it up, please.**

Monday, October 4, 2011: Paris, France: Paris Descartes University: Arthur

"… Nous allons discuter de rêve lucide de plus dans notre prochaine classe," Madame Durant told the class. She stood with her back to them, writing fluidly on the blackboard at the front of the class. Half of the class was staring directly at her as she spoke, while the other half was scribbling down the page numbers in notebooks and planners.

Arthur understood the difference between the two groups. The half writing down the page numbers without a pause were most likely native French speakers; the other half were foreigners, exchange students on a semester or year abroad. They'd been in school for only a couple months, and many were still transitioning to classes where French was spoken the entire time.

Though Arthur had sat in their seats eleven years earlier, he couldn't exactly sympathize with the Americans' scrunched eyebrows and twitching lips. He'd been one of the students scribbling down the numbers with only one ear paying attention to the rest of the teacher's words.

"Nous sommes fait pour aujourd'hui," Madame Durant finished, turning back to face the class. Like seemingly every other French woman, Madame Durant was alarmingly thin. She was rather tall though, hovering around Arthur's height, with thick black hair and slightly narrow blue eyes hidden behind chunky glasses. In that sense, she was a bit of a cliché, but Arthur adored her anyway. She'd been one of his teachers during his own semester abroad at the Paris Descartes University in 1999, when he was eighteen.

And he was there again, but not as a student.

When Arthur decided he wanted to try and work a "real job" (as in, one that happened in reality) his first trip had been to see Miles, Cobb's father-in-law who doubled as a sort of envoy between the dream world and the real one. Miles had been shocked at Arthur's request, but recovered quite quickly; he was extremely pleased to hear that Arthur was getting out.

"You're young enough to make a new life," was one of the few remarks he'd told Arthur after finding out. He'd then proceeded to give Arthur the names of several prominent psychologists, professors and dream researchers around the world who would undoubtedly be interested in the first-hand knowledge Arthur had that practically made him unique. Not many extractors returned from the dreams with enough of a mind to share their experiences.

Upon seeing the name "Geneviève Durant, psychology, Paris Descartes University," on the list, Arthur knew where he wanted to start. And Madame Durant knew she wanted to hire him the moment she saw him.

That left Arthur on a Monday afternoon in Paris, packing up his notebooks and laptop after listening to her lecture. As a dream researcher, he rarely came to her lectures. But when she'd told him she planned to begin lucid dreaming that day, he'd made sure to clear his schedule to make it.

Even though he could easily have told virtually the same lecture in his sleep (pun intended), Arthur never tired of the thrill of seeing the expressions on the psychology undergrads' faces when they learned of the ins and outs of lucid dreaming for the first time.

Long coat on and bag slung over his shoulder, he approached Madame Durant as she organized her desk. She glanced up and smiled warmly.

"Avez-vous appris quelque chose de nouveau?" She asked, smirking a little.

Arthur couldn't help but smile in response. "Peut-être." He paused and added, "Vous avez fait des recherches un peu plus depuis que j'ai d'abord entendu cette conference, Geneviève."

She laughed loudly, nodding her head. "Je l'espère. Serez-vous ici le prochain cours, Arthur?"

"Ouais, bien sûr," Arthur said, aware that some of the foreign students were hovering still, hoping to get in a clarification from Madame Durant before she left. "Je ne voudrais pas manquer pour le monde."

Madame Durant smiled and patted Arthur gently on the arm. Even though he was technically working for her, Arthur knew Madame Durant couldn't help but view him as the ambitious and hard-working third-year he'd been when they first met.

"Je voudrais vous rappeler de ne pas tomber en arrière sur votre travail, mais pour une raison que je ne pense pas que ce qui est nécessaire," Madame Durant said swiftly. Arthur could imagine the undergrads' expressions. If they'd been following the conversation before, they were surely lost now. Madame Durant might've held back a little during lectures, but she never bothered to slow and articulate her speech outside. Thankfully, Arthur was very much fluent.

"Vous avez raison," he replied. "Merci. Bon après-midi, Geneviève."

"Au revoir, Arthur."

The moment Arthur had turned to walk away, he saw Madame Durant being surrounded by anxious undergrads clamoring for assistance. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he climbed the steps of the lecture hall, emerging into a hallway and then out into the warm autumn sunshine.

He was a fan of Paris year-round, but something about Paris in the fall was especially enticing. Maybe it was because it'd finally reached the perfect temperature; not stifling, but not chilly either. Or maybe it was because everything seemed so calm, that mood before the perfect storm that was the rocky French winter. Whatever it was, he enjoyed it immensely.

It was that explanation he'd given Miles, when Miles expressed surprise that Arthur had chosen Paris.

"You could go anywhere, you know," he'd commented. "Milan has a fast-growing dream research program. London is very good as well. And naturally, Osaka is eons ahead of everywhere else. Any university or private research group would be overjoyed to have you."

"Nothing compares to Paris," Arthur had responded. Miles didn't question him again, but Arthur was aware that the reason had nothing to do with respecting Arthur's decision. It definitely had more to do with the fact that Miles had seen the expression on a certain architecture graduate student's face a week after Arthur approached him.

Miles had only alluded to this revelation once, after Arthur called to say he'd secured a position with Madame Durant.

"Nothing compares to _Paris_, indeed."

Arthur had blushed, grateful he'd chosen to call Miles rather than drop by his office in person.

Arthur continued a brisk walk toward the train station, planning to catch a train that would take him back to his flat. It was just after four o'clock, and he was eager to get home.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, Arthur!"

Arthur was still unaccustomed to random strangers knowing his name, even though he'd been witnessing the occasion for a year. He slowed down his pace and turned around, recognizing a girl, one of the foreign undergrads from Madame Durant's last class. He paused and waited for her to approach him.

"Sorry," she said automatically at Arthur's raised eyebrows. "I just, uh… Madame Durant had to leave and I didn't quite catch the last bit of her lecture…"

"You paid enough attention to our conversation afterwards to know my name though," Arthur commented. She blushed, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her. "What's your name?"

"Sadie," she said, tucking a strand of platinum blond hair behind her ear. Like Madame Durant, she was tall, though in Sadie's case, this could be attributed to her sky-high heels. He observed she was dressed nicely, in a dark blue dress, though he was far more formal in his standard three-piece suit. "Sadie Porter."

"Okay. What's your question, Sadie?"

"Well, Madame mentioned something… 'mouvements oculaires rapides'?"

Arthur nodded once in confirmation. "Rapid eye movement."

Sadie's own eyes widened. "Oh! Rapid eye movement? Oh." She pulled a pen from her bag and scribbled a note on the corner of a blank page. Arthur watched silently, something he did better than anyone else he'd ever met. "So, during REM sleep while having a lucid dream-"

"Our eyes can communicate," Arthur interrupted, anticipating the question. "As corresponding to what we're 'looking at' in the lucid dream. It's enough that skilled lucid dreamers can convey information to researchers while still dreaming."

Sadie whistled softly. "Wow. That's incredible."

"It is."

"Have you done it?" She asked.

A memory, of lying on a cot while a man in full military attire leaned over him, came unbidden to Arthur's mind. He barely let this on though, only flexing the fingers of his left hand gingerly. "Yes."

"What was it like?"

… He was sitting up, and the general was gesturing to a scan of his eye movements and asking him dozens of questions… "Surreal."

"Do you think you'll do an experiment with that here, at the university?"

Arthur was hardly an impolite man, but he was ready to go home. He adjusted the strap of his bag, glancing away from Sadie's face in the hopes of conveying that feeling. "Maybe. I'm focusing on Hypnagogic hallucination right now."

"Please, if you need any volunteers, let me know. I'd love to be part of it." Before Arthur could come up with a professional response, Sadie interjected with, "Would you like to get coffee?"

_Oh_.

He set his mouth in a thin line, realization washing over him. No wonder she'd picked up on his name during his conversation with Geneviève; she must've followed it word for word. "You understood everything Geneviève said about lucid dreaming and REM sleep, didn't you?"

She grinned. "I've studied French for seven years, psychology for three."

"I see."

"But I do think you're fascinating, and not just because you're researching dreaming under one of the world's best psychology professors," Sadie said. "Madame Durant has mentioned you over two dozen times, but you've only been to class four times."

"You kept count?"

She had the decency to blush. "Unconsciously. She told us you know more about dreaming than anyone she's ever met, including all of her colleagues around the world and even herself."

_She said that about me_? Arthur was flattered, but knew Madame Durant's praise could be dangerous. If that kind of information got out… Arthur still wasn't a welcome figure in certain parts of the world.

"That was kind of her," he said thickly.

"I just want to know how one gets to that point," Sadie continued. "You're not much older than me, and you're plenty of years younger than Madame. How is it possible you know so much about dreams? You must be ridiculously intelligent, not to mention one hell of a fast learner."

Arthur sighed softly. "You're leaning towards sycophancy, Sadie. That doesn't get very far with me."

"Then what does?"

The way she said it told Arthur all he needed to know. Besides, he'd been ready to exit the conversation several minutes back. All too aware of how close she'd wormed herself to stand in front of him, he took a step back.

"I'm not interested, Sadie."

"It's just coffee, Arthur."

His expression remained casually neutral. "Of course it is. But I've got a lovely girlfriend who already knows all of my secrets."

You could practically see how she deflated at his last sentence. But he didn't feel sorry for her anymore.

"Oh."

He nodded. "I will let you know about the research. There's nothing else quite like it."

"_It's just… pure creation_."

Sadie gave him a last smile. "I guess that'll be good enough." He didn't need to understand Gestalt closure to hear the "for now" at the end of her sentence.

"Au revoir, Sadie."

Arthur turned and walked away quickly, not caring if Sadie was following or staring longingly after him.

**Translations (I think most of the discussion is fairly understandable, but here you go. I haven't taken French in several years. I did my best.)**

**Mme Durant: "We will discuss lucid dreaming in our next class… We're done for today."**

**MD: "Did you learn something new?"**

**Arthur: "Maybe. You've researched a bit more since I first heard this lecture."**

**MD: "I hope so. Will you be here for the next class, Arthur?"**

**A: "Yeah, sure. I wouldn't miss it for the world."**

**MD: "I would remind you not to fall behind your work, but for some reason, I do not think that this is necessary."**

**A: "You're right. Thank you. Good afternoon, Genevieve."**

**MD: "Goodbye, Arthur."**


	2. Love Is Blindness

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Title from song originally by Bono & U2. I prefer the Jack White version, but to each her own…**

**To clear things up: The original Inception (the movie) happened in September 2010, according to my story's timeline.**

**Special thanks to Tenaebryn for the favorite and Lazarus76 for the review. This one is for you two kind people! It's about to get more interesting!**

Monday, October 4, 2011: Paris, France: Arthur & Ariadne's apartment: Arthur

Arthur walked off campus, moving south, towards the nearest train station. He didn't have to wait long before a train pulled up, screeching to a stop in a way that reminded him of American subways. He got on, choosing to stand near the doors while his other passengers chose some of the many empty seats.

Arthur never sat on subways. Bad experiences.

He checked his watch as he got off several minutes later and climbed aboveground. The Seine shimmered in the distance, the sun already beginning to set in correspondence with the season. Arthur didn't pause, instead weaving around passersby and tourists with the air of an expert. Not only did he take this commute five times a week, but he was a pro when it came to moving through crowds silently.

A short three minute walk later, and he reached his apartment building, all six floors of it. It was one of the more affluent buildings in the arrondissement, meaning the building was often gawked at by tourists. He also knew architecture students who frequented the building in the hopes of gaining inspiration.

_And not just the students I've met_, he thought to himself.

The doorman opened the door with a nod in his direction. Arthur ignored the elevator, instead climbing the stairs to the fourth floor. He owned one of the two apartments on the floor, and moved to the door to his, pulling his key from his pocket as he went.

He glanced at the bottom of the door for a moment and froze.

A tiny piece of wood lay on the doormat on the floor. Arthur knelt down and picked it up gingerly, treating it like a ticking bomb. He felt like his heart had stopped beating, while his body began to prepare itself.

_Someone's here. Or come and gone_?

One thing was for sure: Someone he wasn't expecting had entered his apartment.

He straightened up, dropping the inoffensive piece of wood that acted as a low-tech security system into his coat pocket. His hand switched from the pocket to the inside one of his jacket and his fingers brushed over the metal object he carried on his person at all times.

_One year, is that all the peace I get_? He wondered. He thought he'd covered his tracks well, blending in to the Parisians and getting a full-time job. For months after the Fischer inception, he'd looked over his shoulder constantly, terrified he would be found and the life he was building would be crushed before it could begin. He'd started to drop his guard at the six-month mark.

The presence of the gun indicated he'd never completely thrown that guard away.

_Can this really be happening_? He stilled, the question sinking in. Without pausing to consider the logistics of the situation, he reached into one of the pockets of his pants and found the red dice. He looked at it for a moment before letting it tumble out of his palm.

Five white dots stared innocently back at him and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. A sigh that instantly changed into full-blown point man mode.

All of Arthur's self-preservation instincts screamed at him to flee, to abandon the apartment and take the first cab he saw to the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, to find Ariadne and put her on the first flight out of the country. But he knew that could be even riskier, if he didn't investigate first and assess the threat.

_Plus_, he reasoned, _it wouldn't be hard to find out tons about me and her by raiding the place_.

So he negotiated, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and sending a quick text to Ariadne, warning her to stay at the school until he called her. It was his fail-safe process; he could only hope this first run of it would work.

Phone back in pocket, he returned to his key. Dropping his bag on the hall floor, he pulled the gun out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

The interior hall of his apartment was empty, the paintings of France and famous world landmarks still hanging. The front table still held a small pile of newspapers, a bowl of spare keys and pens. Arthur walked silently, his feet barely making a noise against the wooden floors. He rounded the corner, keeping his eyes away from the sunlight that streamed in from the windows and turned his attention to the dining room table, his gun still raised.

But at the sight of the man standing beside it- admittedly with his own gun raised- Arthur almost laughed in relief and immediately lowered his gun.

"Cobb."

Dom Cobb stood before him, wearing a wrinkled suit but without tie. He kept his gun raised even as Arthur set his down on the table, turning to flip on a light-switch. Cobb didn't speak even when Arthur returned to the exterior hall for his bag, but he relaxed significantly when the front door closed and Arthur returned, dropping his bag on a chair by one of the windows and tossing his coat down beside it.

Arthur was acutely aware that Cobb had yet to speak, which might not have been alarming, but was admittedly a little strange. He continued to move about the apartment, acting like everything was normal and Cobb wasn't still pointing a gun at him.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Arthur finally asked, pausing in the kitchen.

"I already had some of your bread and fruit," Cobb said without missing a beat.

Arthur shrugged. "Not surprising, considering you broke into my home."

"You knew I was here. How?"

"How?" Arthur repeated incredulously. "Cobb, you of all people know that I never leave without some sort of security in place." He reached into his pocket and held up the small piece of wood. Cobb's eyes closed in recognition.

"I forgot. So primitive."

"But effective," Arthur countered. He stood, facing Cobb with hands in his pockets, the gun still pointed at his chest. "Is the gun really necessary, Cobb?"

Cobb nodded once. Arthur's eyebrows soared.

Cobb cleared his throat and nodded to the dining room table. "Take a seat, please, Arthur."

Confused, but certain Cobb wasn't going to shoot him, Arthur sat. After a moment's hesitation, Cobb followed suit, resting his hand with the gun on the table in front of him, facing Arthur.

"What's this all about?" Arthur asked.

Cobb blinked. "He took my children."

It took Arthur all of five seconds to grasp the sentence, impressive but still longer than normal. "Who?"

"Browning."

Arthur's mind went into overdrive as he processed this. "Browning. Not-"

"From the Fischer case, yes," Cobb confirmed. As he spoke, Arthur reassessed Cobb's appearance. His clothes weren't just wrinkled; they were creased and worn. They hadn't been washed in a while, a trait Cobb himself shared. His hair was messy, facial hair longer than Arthur had ever seen it. His eyes were dark and empty. Moral-less.

"When?" Arthur asked, all business.

"Two days ago. I came as fast as I could."

"Why?"

Cobb's eyes bugged a little bit. "Because Browning gave me a message. If I want to get them back, I have to return to Fischer's mind and undo the inception."

Arthur stared. "Come again?"

"He wants me to remove the idea, and replace it with a new one."

"Yes, I got that," Arthur said slowly. "But… But that was inception. It wasn't just a walk in the park sort of thing. Remember, Cobb? Remember how difficult it was, how we almost failed, how you almost-"

He broke off, Cobb's persistent nodding ending his rant.

"I was there," Cobb reminded him. "I remember what happened."

"It's been a year. How does he expect Fischer to change his mind _now_?"

"Fischer has had an offer from a young energy company," Cobb replied. "Young, but promising. He's planning on turning them down, but Browning thinks they have enough potential to help the empire return to its former glory."

Arthur's jaw was slack, but he kept it in place somehow. "He's insane."

"He wants his life back."

"Cobb, it can't be done," Arthur pressed.

"I knew you would say that."

Arthur had always been good at understanding the ulterior motives of others, the things they were really saying behind their speech. So when Cobb said those words, everything fell into place and the gun pointed at his heart was suddenly more threatening than anything he'd experienced in months.

"You're dragging me back," Arthur said quietly.

Cobb nodded. "I'm sorry, Arthur."

"How did you find me, anyway?"

"I thought you would've stayed in the states," Cobb explained. "I looked there first. Boston, New York, Chicago. The usual suspects. When it was clear you weren't there, I moved to Europe. Barcelona, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Athens-"

A muscle in Arthur's jaw twitched, but he remained still.

"-I never expected you to stay in Paris. But Stephen told me a few months ago that you were leaving the fold, and it hit me that you might want to come back to the university. You liked it there."

"So did you," Arthur hissed scathingly before he could stop himself. Cobb's chin raised in defiance and Arthur winced inwardly. "That was uncalled for."

"Not really," Cobb admitted. Arthur agreed, the gun resting between them.

"But it didn't stop me from being stunned to see Arthur Zaleski was part of Geneviève Durant's research team," Cobb continued. "Why are you using your real name?"

Arthur rested his fist on the table. "I'm done running, Cobb. I left."

"That doesn't justify it. Anyone who wants you dead would be all too pleased to realize Arthur Zaleski is parading around as a dream researcher at one of the world's most prestigious universities for psychology."

Arthur didn't even take a deep breath, but he knew exactly what Cobb was doing. He was an extractor, after all, and one of the best; Cobb was incredibly talented at wheedling information out of people who didn't want to give it. Luckily, Arthur was not one easily swayed to cave.

"You'll have to do better than that, Cobb," he said calmly.

There was a trace of sadness on Cobb's features. "I wish I didn't. You won't even consider it?"

"It can't be done. I'm not coming back for something that'll only raise my status in that world again. I can't risk being found here." Arthur hesitated, unwilling to throw his old friend to the sharks, especially with the lives of his children on the line. "How long is Browning giving you to assemble a team?"

"The end of the week."

Arthur stared. "Shit, Dom. It's Monday."

"I'm aware," Cobb said with a level face. "Once you've agreed, I'm flying to London to track down Eames. Shouldn't be hard; we met in Los Angeles for drinks a few months back."

"Eames?" Arthur repeated. "He's not going to get onboard with this anymore than I am."

"I've got…" Cobb hesitated. Under the table, Arthur's hand tightened into a fist. He suddenly wished he hadn't left his gun on the other side, so far away…

"Eames is wanted in almost as many places as us," Cobb said gently. "But he's also wanted for federal jurisdiction. Eames can evade solitary assassins; but he has a harder time hiding from whole international police forces who can bypass the laws of extradition."

"You're going to blackmail him," Arthur said. He didn't bother to arrange his expression. He let Cobb see how scandalized and disapproving he really was.

Cobb's expression grew fierce. "It's my _children_, Arthur. Philippa and James. They're all I have left. What would you do if it was me?"

"There are dozens of others on the planet who would be all too happy to help you with this," Arthur reminded him. "If money is an issue, I'll pay the fee for the point man in my place. I don't think it would be too hard to convince Eames to do the same for the forger. So why are you so dead-set on us?"

Cobb got to his feet, and Arthur breathed a little more easily when the gun moved from his chest. He watched silently as Cobb paced, an odd image in the otherwise peaceful and tranquil apartment.

"You're the best at what you do," Cobb murmured. "And so is Eames. I like Eames, I've worked with him many times… There's a saying, you know: 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it.' That's what I'm doing. I'm re-creating the original team."

Arthur felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "So, Eames and me… And-"

"Yusuf is still in Mombasa," Cobb nodded. "I'll have to arrange a way to contact him. He might be more flexible than you and Eames."

"And Ariadne?" Arthur forced himself to not choke on her name.

Cobb's face fell. "That… I don't know about. I assume she's still in the city, finishing her degree, but… I promised Stephen I wouldn't bring her into this, and I broke that promise once. I don't want to do it again. I figured you could help me track down a new architect. Plus… She doesn't owe me anything at all. More likely, I owe her."

Well, there was a plus. Arthur exhaled quietly.

Cobb finally looked up at Arthur. "As for you, you know why I came to you first. You're my best friend, Arthur. I would do it for you if our positions were switched."

Like with Sadie earlier, Arthur was more than ready to get out of the conversation. "Like hell you would. You know I'd be sticking my neck out for you. Word gets around too quickly for me to make a good safety net."

Cobb nodded once. He'd stopped pacing and Arthur realized that something had broken; Cobb had reached the end of his patience, just like Arthur.

"Your argument is true," Cobb admitted. "But you're speaking like a man without attachments. That's no longer the case now, isn't it?"

Arthur kept his poker face intact. "What do you mean?"

Cobb merely blinked. "Unless you're trying out an alternative lifestyle, Arthur, there is no reason for there to be a blouse hanging off the chair under the window, an eyelash curler in your bathroom and a hairbrush on your bed. You don't live here alone. There's a woman in the picture."

Arthur almost went to his dice. He had to be dreaming. This was not happening.

Cobb assessed Arthur's face, studying the minute tics and responses that only he could pick up, having known Arthur for so long. He could tell that Arthur was working hard to conceal his emotions, though he wasn't sure what those were at this point.

"What's her name?" He asked gently.

Arthur almost fell over with relief. _He doesn't know_. He swallowed once, again leveling his eyes with Cobb's. "When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes before you showed up. I only got a passing glance in the rooms. Why is one of them locked?"

Arthur knew he was talking about Ariadne's office, where she kept all her projects and plans. The place was a mess, but completely her own, and he loved it.

And Cobb had inadvertently revealed something crucial: He hadn't found Ariadne's name.

Not to mention: If Sadie hadn't stopped him, Arthur would've been in the apartment when Cobb broke in. But would anything be different?

_No. I still would've lowered my gun, and I'd be sitting here still._

"It's unimportant," he murmured.

Cobb nodded once, choosing to not press it. "How much does she know?"

"Everything."

Cobb's eyebrows skyrocketed, his expression utterly bemused. "It's that serious? Stephen didn't say."

"Miles has a thing about respecting privacy…"

Cobb's cheek twitched, recognizing that Arthur was hinting at the dream extraction heists Miles had never approved of.

"Is this why you left?" Cobb asked, spinning around and gripping the gun more tightly. "Because of her?"

"More like _for_ her," Arthur corrected him.

"You're going by your real name…"

"…Because I don't want to be someone I'm not when I'm with her," Arthur said, finishing his sentence. "I don't lie to her. She understands."

"Arthur, that's…" Cobb was obviously stunned, almost to the point of speechlessness. "Well. That's great."

"Normally is," Arthur agreed. "And I never thought I'd say this, but… I'm very disappointed you found out."

Arthur kept his voice level, but inside, he was a bundle of terror and nerves. Cobb was dangerously close to making him crack. The gun in Cobb's hand held more importance, but… Surely he would never…

_You never thought he'd point a gun at you in the real world, either_.

"Where is she right now?" Cobb wondered, pausing in his pacing to glance at his watch.

Arthur snorted. "Right."

"What?"

"You expect me to tell you where she is when you've broken into our home and are currently twirling a gun in front of me? I don't think so."

Cobb nodded, giving Arthur a small smile. "Yes, you're right. I was just wondering how much longer this would take."

Arthur blanched; Cobb noticed. But Arthur didn't care. Cobb had gone past the point of no return. "You're going to wait for her?"

"I have to, don't I? How else are you going to come with me?"

"You've gotta be shitting me," Arthur snapped. "After everything, eleven years of friendship, and running from hit men around the world, after your kids and all that happened with Mal, after all that… You're blackmailing me by threatening my girlfriend?"

Cobb steadied the gun. It was pointed directly at Arthur's forehead.

"I wouldn't kill her," he murmured in a tone Arthur guessed was supposed to be reassuring but fell flat during the current circumstances. "I wouldn't do that to you. But unlike with Eames, you're a professional at evading anyone or anything. Even after everything we've been through, I couldn't name the places you keep your money, or the connections you have abroad. You could run forever if you had to. But I've run with people whose lives I value above my own, and I know how much harder it is. How easy it is to slip up, to forget they can't move as quickly as you…"

Arthur couldn't breathe. "So you're going to tell-"

"Cobol, first," Cobb admitted softly. "I know you haven't squared accounts with them yet. You're still in their top ten most wanted, but they don't really try to look for you because of the reasons I just said. You're like a ghost. But she… She's real."

"So you'll tell Cobol where to find my girlfriend," Arthur finished. "Because you've seen how attached I am."

"It sure doesn't sound like you would leave her," Cobb nodded.

"Selling her out to Cobol is a death sentence, and you know it," Arthur hissed, his hands tightening into fists. "You might as well put a bullet in her head."

Cobb shook his head. "I wouldn't-"

"Yes, because _indirectly_ causing her death is so much better-"

"She won't die," Cobb said softly. "You would turn yourself into Cobol first."

"Which means you've signed _my_ death sentence," Arthur said gruffly. "You're right, that should make me feel better. I understand why you're pointing that gun at me now, because once I refuse, you might as well shoot me here and now."

Cobb frowned. "I wouldn't kill you."

"Really? All evidence right now is pointing to the contrary." Arthur glared daggers at the older man. "I trusted you. You're blackmailing me. I would never have held Mal against you, and you know it."

"Arthur…" Cobb shook his head with desperation, looking like the mad man Arthur felt he'd become. "Arthur… It's my kids…"

"Yeah, and it's my girlfriend, she…" He struggled for words, swallowing the truth he really wanted to shout. Instead, his eyes zeroed in on the gun again. "But for Christ's sake, Cobb, would you _please_ lower that thing?"

"I thought I just-"

"I know why you're keeping a gun on me, but even if she knows everything, seeing you pointing a gun at my head isn't going to clear anything up for her." He raised his eyes to Cobb's. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Cobb considered, keeping his eyes locked on Arthur's. They stared each other down for a long moment before Cobb shook his head.

"I can't. I know you, Arthur. I drop my guard for a second and you're out the door, and what am I left with?"

_Twenty minutes, until I can find a sniper rifle and shoot you between the eyes_. "You don't even trust me anymore."

"You wouldn't either."

"I would never _do this_, Cobb!" Arthur said, his voice rising. "This is over the line, and you know it. I thought we had an agreement to never make anything personal."

"Arthur…" Cobb's breath caught. "I'm desperate. Philippa, and James… They're _everything_ to me. They're my whole life."

"She's mine," Arthur said before he could stop himself. If possible, Cobb looked even more surprised.

"It is _very_ serious, then."

"Might not be after this," Arthur remarked. "A psychotic ex-best friend isn't good for anyone."

Cobb's mouth quirked when Arthur mentioned ex, but he didn't regret it. Cobb knew what he was doing was completely messed up.

"So you, of all people, should understand," Cobb whispered. "You would do anything to keep her, too."

"Don't do this," Arthur said, speaking faster now. "Don't do this to me, Cobb. Please, if I've ever meant anything to you, or if you've ever felt like you should pay me back for nine years of protecting you, and Mal, and your children… Then turn around and walk out of my apartment, and never contact me again."

He was aware he was pleading, begging, but he couldn't stop.

"I'm tired of the running," he continued. "I'm settling down, Cobb. I'm done. Retired. I haven't dreamt in three months, that's the longest I've ever gone without using the PASIV, and two weeks ago, I had my first natural dream in ten years. And it was the epitome of bliss." He shook back the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing countless needle scars that were fading. "So I'm begging you, Cobb. Leave me alone. Let me get on with my life. It isn't too late for me to make something honest of it. Please."

Cobb's hand tightened on the gun. "Arthur… I…" He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them swiftly. The fast reflexes were all Arthur needed to acknowledge his plea would be ignored. Cobb wanted him. He wanted the whole team, and he wasn't accepting no.

"Fine," Arthur hissed. "Okay. I accept, or whatever the hell the word should be. Give me five minutes to pack and we can leave."

Cobb stared at him. "Leaving now?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I just thought you'd want to wait and explain things," Cobb said.

More than anything, Arthur did. But he couldn't risk Cobb seeing Ariadne at the apartment, or seeing them together on the street and connecting the dots. If Cobb wasn't planning on tracking her down, then Arthur wanted nothing more than to keep her out of the picture. And he was going to try his best to make sure he wasn't the reason Cobb found her.

"I want to keep her out of it," Arthur said. "If this doesn't end well, someone might come after her. For the money, at least." He stood, the gun following his move, pointed once more at his forehead. "I'll call her at the airport."

"You have changed," Cobb remarked. "You're in love."

"She lives with me, of course I am," Arthur snapped, irritated. "Now, if you'll just let me-"

But he broke off, frozen, at the sound of the front door opening. Arthur's back was to the hallway, and he focused on Cobb's face, watching the older man's eyebrows raise and his grip on the gun tighten.

"Is that her?" He asked softly.

"Arthur?" Arthur closed his eyes at hearing Ariadne call his name from the hall. He glanced at Cobb, studying the extractor's face. It looked focused, thinking; Cobb knew he'd heard that voice before, but he couldn't quite place where.

As soon as Arthur heard the sound of Ariadne's boots tapping on the floor as she made her way down the hallway, Arthur knew he had to keep it that way, before Cobb could see her face.

He leapt at Cobb, seizing the barrel of the gun in his left hand and turning it away from Ariadne's direction, instead pointing it towards the kitchen area. Cobb's hand moved too slow, but still fast enough to be a reflex; the bullet exploded from the end, burying itself in the far wall. The silencer wasn't enough; the crack was shattering.

While Cobb grappled to bring the gun around, Arthur drew back his right hand. Just as Ariadne rounded the corner, he slammed his fist into the side of Cobb's head. The extractor swayed, stumbling back and grabbing the kitchen counter for support, his back to Ariadne and the dining room.

Knowing he only had moments, Arthur spun around to face her. He took a second to catalogue her appearance; physically fine, but with an expression so horrified and scared it practically made his heart stop, before taking the only chance he had.

"Go!" He yelled at her, not bothering to make his voice quieter or to offer such pleasantries like, _it'll be okay, I'm fine,_ or anything like that. "Run! Go!"

A fist slammed into his jaw, and it was Arthur's turn to stumble. He caught himself on the table and spun, meeting Cobb's concentrated gaze. He ducked as Cobb swung again, and managed to land a punch into Cobb's stomach. But his proximity put him in a precarious situation—he hadn't fought Cobb in years, they were both far past their days of sparring—and Cobb used his heavier weight to an advantage, wrapping an arm around Arthur's neck and spinning him around, pinning his back to his chest. Arthur felt the cold metal of the silencer press to his temple and all he could think was _if there is a God, please have Ariadne already outside and away from here_—

"_No_!"

There was no God. Arthur couldn't turn his head, but he had a pretty clear vantage point to see that Ariadne hadn't moved. She still stood in the archway between the hall and the dining room, only seven feet away from where Cobb and Arthur stood. Her hands were outstretched, as if she was preparing to grab Arthur. But her gaze was focused solely on Cobb, who must've been beyond shocked, but was maintaining an excellent grip on Arthur and the gun.

"Ariadne?" Cobb's voice was tight. Arthur could imagine his expression, though he couldn't see his face, Cobb's arm still wrapped around his throat in a grip that was uncomfortable, but not quite painful yet. "What are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing?" She asked, breathlessly. Her eyes finally flickered from Cobb's face, down, to Arthur's, and he could see the questions in them. _Why? What's he doing here? Why is there a gun pointed at your head_?

"Yes, but-" Cobb suddenly broke off, and Arthur knew why. It'd clicked at last; Ariadne's appearance wasn't a coincidence; Arthur's girlfriend had showed up after all.

Arthur used the sudden slack in Cobb's arm to his advantage. He pulled himself out of Cobb's grip, but didn't bother going far. Instead, he straightened, placing himself directly in front of Cobb and blocking Ariadne from his view.

Cobb's eyes were amazed. "Her? It's her?"

Arthur nodded once, without hesitation.

"How long?"

"A year," Arthur murmured softly.

It was Cobb's turn to nod. "Since Los Angeles. The Fischer job."

Arthur didn't bother to give an affirmation. He remained still, never tearing his eyes from Cobb's. Cobb didn't have much of a choice but to do the same, considering Arthur was standing so close in front of him.

"I never would've guessed that," Cobb admitted.

"I was hoping that would happen," Arthur agreed. Cobb's eyes flashed, realizing why Arthur had been in such a hurry to leave. He raised the gun, but kept it level, again at Arthur's head.

"Could you please-" Ariadne's choked voice caused both men to turn around. She was wringing her hands together, her book bag still on her shoulder and sunglasses perched on her hair. Her eyes were looking directly at Cobb. "Could you please not point that gun at his head?"

Cobb blinked. "It bothers you?"

"_Yes_," Ariadne hissed. "What the hell is going on, Cobb?"

"He won't shoot me," Arthur said calmly, turning back around to face Cobb again. He knew they were both listening to him; he could practically feel Ariadne's eyes focused on his turned back. "He needs me."

"True," Cobb agreed. "I wouldn't kill you. But I might…" He shifted the gun lower, pointing at Arthur's right side. "There. You had your appendix removed when you were nine years old. A bullet would go straight through you."

"But it would hurt like hell," Arthur said, finishing Cobb's unspoken thought. "You sick bastard."

"Cobb, why are you doing this?" Ariadne asked quietly. Arthur listened as her boots tapped across the floor, making her way over to them. He spoke when he could see her in his peripheral vision, paused near his shoulder.

"Ariadne, if my sanity means anything at all to you, you will please stop moving," he snapped, not looking at her. She did stop though, hovering at his side. He took a deep breath and finally took his eyes away from Cobb's, to look at hers. He swallowed once, staring deeply into chocolate brown, his favorite color on the planet. "Please. Turn around and walk away. I will call you when it's okay for you to come home."

She narrowed her eyes. "Arthur, I can't leave you like this…"

"If you love me, you will," he said smoothly. "I can handle this. He isn't going to shoot me." He looked back up at Cobb. "You won't have enough time to plan an inception if I'm lying in a hospital. You can't afford this."

Cobb frowned. Ariadne looked away from Arthur, turning to study him instead. She looked calm, but interested.

"Inception?" She repeated. "You're planning an inception?"

"Reverse inception," Cobb corrected.

"And you need Arthur?"

"He's the best," Cobb said. "There's no one else who would have as good a shot as him."

"_Shut up_," Arthur growled. "Ari, please. Just walk away. For me. Please."

To his surprise (considering she'd blatantly ignored his earlier text message) she listened, turning around and walking away. Cobb looked confused, leaning around Arthur who had to move away from Cobb to watch her. He'd expected more of a fight. He knew, without a doubt, that if things had been the other way around, nothing could've made him leave her. So why—

His question was answered when she stopped at the end of the table. Moving quickly, he stared as she picked up his abandoned gun, training it on Cobb, who was now exposed since Arthur had moved to the side.

Her expression was fierce, but remained practiced and calm. Her hand wasn't shaking, though Arthur internally was.

"Cobb," she said tensely. "I think Arthur's got a valid argument for why you won't shoot him. But the fact is that you're pointing a gun at the man I love, and he's acting like it's no big deal, and his biggest concern is to get me out of here, which means you've said something to him about me that has him in a panic. And we both know he doesn't panic. But somehow, he is right now, which means I cannot leave him. So I'm going to say this once, Cobb; put down the gun or _I_ will shoot you."

Cobb looked bewildered. "Excuse me?"

"You told him you would hurt me," Ariadne said calmly. As always, her instincts and understanding of others proved her correct. "I don't think that'll happen, though honestly, it does feel a little bit like anything is possible right now. But the point is that I really don't think I can stand one more moment of this, especially without knowing what the hell is going on."

Cobb's eyes swiveled to Arthur's, though the gun in his hand remained pointed at Arthur's side. "Is she bluffing?"

Arthur merely blinked. "She's a good shot."

"You taught her?"

"He's not stupid enough to not," Ariadne pointed out gently. "If anyone found out we were together…"

"… They could use you as leverage," Cobb finished. "Yes, I understand. I would've taught Mal how to use a gun as well if she hadn't known how already." He looked back at Arthur. "You really are trying to start over."

"What was your first clue?" Arthur asked dryly.

"Okay, Ariadne," Cobb said, ignoring Arthur's snark and returning to Ariadne's proposition. "I agree to your demand." He lowered the gun, pointing it at the floor and Arthur relaxed a bit. "Now what?"

"Now, you put it on the table and pass it to me." Ariadne's voice was like steel. Cobb nodded and followed her directions, placing the gun on the surface and sending it sliding towards Ariadne's end. She picked it up gingerly and flicked the safety on before shoving it into her bag. Only then did she lower the gun.

"I'll keep both of these," she told the two men, flicking the safety on Arthur's gun and adding it to her bag. "And the three of us are going out somewhere in public where you can fill me in on what's going on."

Cobb put his hands in his pockets and smiled at Arthur. "You taught her well."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I didn't teach her how to negotiate. That's all her."

"Of course it is," Cobb agreed. He nodded at Ariadne. "Lead the way."


	3. Heads Will Roll

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**I've never been to Paris (or anywhere else in France) so everything you've been reading regarding landscape and university is what I've found online. Every named location is real though.**

**Chapter title from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs song. The lyrics don't really fit (dance dance until you die!) but I listened to it a lot whilst writing this chapter, and but the keyboard and beat suggest impending doom…**

**Thanks to kks99, obliviate-exterminate and penguinsfan18 for the favorites, athousandroses, Aura the Artist and shanynde for the story alert and shanynde and obliviate-exterminate for the reviews! I love the support!**

**Reviews are one swell way to offer encouragement. Please take a moment and share one. I'd dig it. Thanks.**

Heads Will Roll

Monday, October 4, 2011: Paris, France: Le Pub St. Germain: Arthur

Even though she'd proven she didn't need it, Arthur couldn't help but follow protectively behind Ariadne as she led the way to their destination. Behind him, Cobb walked, hands deep in his pockets and a perpetual frown on his face. Every now and then, Arthur glanced behind him to study Cobb. It didn't matter that he knew Cobb was no longer armed; Arthur officially did not trust the man.

Ahead of him, Ariadne kept her head up and her pace even. Her right arm was wrapped possessively around her bag, which she had mostly emptied of books to make room for the guns. They'd been walking for almost five minutes and hadn't said a word to each other. The silence was deafening to Arthur and he walked a little faster, brushing his left hand against the small of her back and leaning over her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't the one held at gunpoint by their best friend, Arthur. I should be asking you that."

Arthur sighed, his breath floating across her hair. "He wasn't going to shoot me."

"Sure. That's exactly what it looked like."

He wasn't going to get any honest conversation with her now. "Where are we going?"

"Le Pub St. Germain," she replied. "I could really use a drink right now." She caught Arthur's eye and scowled at his smirk. "I don't care that it's barely five o'clock. I'm _still_ shaking."

He glanced down, and realized that part of the reason she was gripping her bag so tightly was to conceal the fact that her hands were shaking. Keeping his left on her back, he reached with his right and brushed his fingertips along the back of her hand.

"It'll be okay."

"I don't want to talk about this now," she whispered sharply, aware that Cobb was right behind them and attempting to hang on their every word. "I've got plenty of things I intend to say to you later though."

"I look forward to it," Arthur murmured. She frowned again but adjusted her bag, pulling away from Arthur's touch. He glanced behind him again and spotted Cobb's relaxed expression; Arthur sighed again in irritation at it.

They reached the restaurant and Arthur pulled the door open, letting Ariadne and Cobb pass through before him. She led the way, choosing a table in the corner with Cobb on her tail while Arthur approached the bar.

Cobb raised his eyebrows when Arthur returned with his usual drink, scotch on the rocks. "How-"

"You've been drinking the same thing for ten years," Arthur responded with a snap in his voice. Cobb shrugged it off as Arthur sat, passing Ariadne her cosmopolitan without a word and taking a gulp of his beer.

"So," Ariadne said. "Cobb. What the hell is going on?"

Cobb sighed deeply. "Two days ago, I was at home in San Francisco with my kids. I heard a knock on the front door; I went to answer it, thinking it was a package Stephen told me he was going to send. Must've been at least four of them, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in my driveway surrounded by my neighbors and clutching a letter in my hand."

"That said what?" Ariadne pressed.

"That Peter Browning had kidnapped my children," Cobb said. "And is holding them at a secret location. That the only way I can get them back is to perform a reverse inception on Robert Fischer."

Ariadne's mouth fell open, and her hand gripped her glass in an unnecessarily tight grip. She was staring directly at Cobb, ignoring Arthur's eyes on her.

"Fischer," she whispered. "The inception… He wants you to _reverse_ it?"

"Yes."

"Is it possible?"

"No," Arthur interjected. "Inception on its own is difficult enough, bordering on impossible. But we'd heard of it before we tried it, and Cobb had done it before, so we went for it. But reverse inception… Now _that's_ impossible."

Cobb shook his head. "Just because it hasn't been done before doesn't mean it can't be done."

"What happens if you don't do it?" Ariadne asked breathlessly. She didn't need a spoken answer at the look on Cobb's face.

"Oh, Cobb…" She reached across the table, gripping his hand in hers.

"Now you understand why I was so… Uh…"

"Insane?" Arthur supplied. Ariadne gave him a look but didn't question his word choice.

"Yes," Cobb admitted. He turned back to Ariadne. "I can't lose them. They're all I have left."

She nodded. "Yes, I see that… But Cobb, if it can't be done-"

"I have to try," he said. "And to give it my best, I need the best people possible. I'm trying to re-create the original team who went on the inception the first time around, though minus Saito."

"So you came to Paris for me?"

Cobb shook his head. "Not exactly. I came for Arthur; I didn't know you two were… Well."

Ariadne raised an eyebrow. "Well indeed."

"Stephen had told me that Arthur retired," Cobb explained. "But nothing about why." He paused, his unspoken question hanging in the air.

Ariadne nodded. "He knows we don't spread it around."

"In case people choose to use that connection against us," Arthur clarified. Cobb's nose twitched and he gulped down some more of his drink. Arthur kept his gaze leveled at him. He was beyond irritated with the man, but he knew Ariadne wanted to consider everything before passing judgment.

"When were you going to get me?" Ariadne wondered.

Cobb's mouth quirked. "I wasn't. I promised Stephen before the first inception that I would keep you out of the dream. As we all know, that didn't exactly pan out-" Arthur snorted, earning himself a glare from Cobb, who pressed forward "-So I decided afterwards that I would never bring you back into this again."

"You're doing great at that one too," Arthur commented.

Ariadne ignored this. "You weren't going to contact me?"

"I was going to try to find a different architect first," Cobb said. "Eames still works fairly regularly; I figured he would know someone."

"You've talked to Eames then?"

"Not yet. I'm flying to London tomorrow to track him down." Cobb's eyes swiveled to Arthur. "I was hoping you'd accompany me."

"Not for my pleasant company, I'm sure," Arthur said. "You want to keep an eye on me."

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes, actually," Arthur said heatedly, but Ariadne's hand on his knee gave him pause and he turned to her.

Her brow was furrowed, eyes somewhat distant as she thought.

"How long do you have to form a team?"

"The end of the week," Cobb murmured. She looked shocked.

"How do they expect you to find people to agree to something like this in such a short time?"

Cobb sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I don't know. Browning thinks I have enough connections to pull it off. And if I was looking for an average team, I could, easily. But I need nothing less than extraordinary for this."

"Us," Ariadne said. Cobb nodded.

"You see why I was so forceful."

"It's a bit clearer," she agreed. She removed her hand from Arthur's knee, clasping her hands together on the table. She fiddled with her thumbs, her calling card for deep thinking. It hit Arthur then as to what exactly she was considering.

"Shit, Ari-"

"You heard him, Arthur," she whispered, glancing around. Even over the loud music playing in the restaurant, a couple heads had looked up at Arthur's raised voice, but they turned away when Ariadne met their eyes. She swiveled back to gaze at Arthur. "It's his kids on the line. He's not asking us to give up anything; he just wants our help."

"Give up anything?" Arthur repeated incredulously. "We'd be sticking our necks out for him, and he knows it. You know how hard I had to work to get rid of my tails to make the last year possible. I'm only just now beginning to fall off the radar of the major corporations interested in extraction and shared dreaming. This would raise my profile again, significantly, no matter the outcome."

"We have to try-"

"Cobb," Arthur interjected fluidly, tearing his gaze away from Ariadne's and focusing on Cobb. Cobb looked up, having been watching the exchange with a tired, but hopeful, expression. "Tell her how you betrayed me. Tell her how far you are willing to go to blackmail me."

His words caught Ariadne's attention and she looked at Cobb again. "What?"

"I'm desperate," Cobb began.

"For God's sake, Cobb," Arthur snapped. "You can't worm your way out of this. Explain to her how you were willing to watch her and me die to get your way."

Ariadne's eyes widened. "_What?_"

"You were right earlier when you said he was threatening to hurt you," Arthur said, leaning forward towards Cobb.

Cobb sighed. "Fine, Arthur." He turned to Ariadne, looking her straight in the eye.

"Arthur is still wanted, dead or alive, in certain parts of the world," he explained in his lowest voice yet, aware of the people around them. It was one thing to discuss inception in a public place (where the average restaurant goer would have no idea what it was); it was a whole other thing to talk about a wanted criminal. "The highest price on his head comes from Cobol Engineering. 2.5 million dollars dead, five million alive. To put it in context, most extractors are valued at $250,000."

Ariadne's eyes were huge in wordless shock. Arthur straightened his tie for lack of something to do.

"If he wasn't going to agree, I was going to go to Cobol to tell them that Arthur Thorne was living in Paris; that's the name they know him as," Cobb added, misreading Ariadne's expression as confusion. Arthur knew it was actually horror.

"You were going to sell him out?" She asked open-mouthed.

"Not just me," Arthur muttered.

"Cobol has wanted Arthur for a year and a half now," Cobb continued reluctantly. "And they haven't found him, even though he's remained in the same place for a year of that time. He's unmatched at evading people he wishes to avoid. Everyone in the industry recognizes him as not just an unparalleled point man, but as a master of secrecy. To them, he has no attachments and no weaknesses. So Cobol keeps its price, but without much of a hope of ever hunting him down.

"Of course," Cobb continued. "What they don't realize is that Mr. Thorne here is in a long-term relationship."

"Oh," Ariadne breathed. "_Oh_." She turned to Arthur, eyes wide in realization. "That's why you didn't want him to see me. And…" She returned her gaze to Cobb, face full of indignation. Arthur almost smiled at it.

"You weren't going to just tell Cobol where to find Arthur," she hissed. "You were going to tell them where to find _me_."

"Cobol would jump at the opportunity to seize the one attachment Arthur hasn't severed," Cobb confirmed. "Arthur can move without a trace, but you might not be able to, and not nearly as neatly. Your whole life has been in the real world; his hasn't for almost ten years. And he's a point man; his nature would ensure him stopping at nothing to find you and bring you back. Or, if that didn't work, his first response would be to give himself up in exchange for you."

Ariadne clenched her jaw. "You _are_ a sick bastard." Arthur nodded, and unable to help himself, grasped her hand. She entwined her fingers with his in response.

"I really want nothing more than to slap you," she told Cobb.

He nodded. "I deserve it, yes."

Ariadne stood, pulling Arthur up with her. "We're leaving." Arthur was none too happy to allow her to lead him through the crowded restaurant, her small hand warm and reassuring in his.

They stepped out into the cool Parisian night and Ariadne automatically turned in the direction back to their apartment. They made it three steps before Cobb caught up with them.

"Ariadne, Arthur; please, wait-"

"Jesus Christ," Arthur swore. He dropped Ariadne's hand and spun around, grabbing Cobb by the collar of his dirty shirt. Aware of the gawking passersby, he yanked Cobb into the side alley, stepping past the dumpster until he could slam him against the wall.

"Leave us alone," he growled, shaking Cobb by the front of his shirt for emphasis. "We want nothing to do with you anymore." He glared at Cobb for a moment before letting go, sending the older man sprawling into the cold cement of the alley floor. Arthur turned back to Ariadne, seizing her hand again to take the lead home. Just as he picked up the pace and turned his head to search for a taxi, Cobb spoke.

"Cobol has a team of assassins in Paris."

Arthur froze, Cobb's words sinking in. He spun around, Ariadne hesitating at his side.

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked in a voice like ice.

Cobb coughed, straightening against the wall. "They keep a team here year-round for the same reason I come here; some of the most promising dreamers in the world can be found in this city." He sighed, standing to his full height and pushing away from the wall. "I can make one phone call, and they'll be at your apartment before you get there yourselves."

Arthur inhaled tightly through his nose. "You're bluffing."

"You remember Cobol. You know I'm not. Enough of their most wanted frequent the city."

"He's telling the truth?" Ariadne asked in a hushed voice.

"You can't run from that," Cobb continued, speaking only to Arthur. "A car wouldn't be fast enough. It'd be too easy for someone to slip on at a train station. You could take a plane, but you don't have the documents you need to get out of the country at such short notice. Well, _you_ might. But we both know she doesn't, and you won't leave her."

Arthur gripped Ariadne's hand more tightly, treating it as a lifeline, a stark reminder that this was reality and not, in fact, a nightmare.

"You can't go to the police," Cobb murmured, his voice husky. "France doesn't protect wanted criminals. If you could even get them to believe the reason you require asylum is for a dream heist."

"Why wouldn't I just go to Cobol and tell them where to find you instead?" Arthur demanded.

"They're no longer interested in me," Cobb said softly. "I squared things with them six months ago. A job in New Orleans. You're their number one now."

"You would do that to us?" Ariadne whispered brokenly.

Cobb turned to her, his expression full of apologies and broken denials. "I have to, Ariadne. I need you to help me."

That was too much for Arthur. Without a word, he launched himself at Cobb, slamming his fist into the extractor's jaw. Cobb swayed, but Arthur didn't give him a chance to recover, instead continuing to pummel the man like his life depended on it. Which it did.

"You fucker," he hissed at Cobb. "Give me one good reason to not kill you on the spot."

"I wasn't born yesterday," Cobb spat, coughing out a mouthful of blood. Arthur heard Ariadne's intake of breath at the sight of the red liquid dripping onto the ground but she didn't comment. "I have insurance. I told Cobol I was looking for you. They know where I've been and where I was planning to go. If I suddenly stop in Paris and disappear… I called them earlier when I was in your apartment, telling them I had a lead, that you have a weakness now. If I don't call back tonight, they'll realize something went wrong. It won't take them long to realize I found you, and that you weren't alone."

Arthur got to his feet, staring down at his former best friend, his blood frozen with horror.

"So that's it, then," he murmured. "You've taken my life out of my hands. You're fucking giving me to them on a silver platter."

"My kids-"

"_It won't work, Cobb!_" Arthur yelled, losing all his composure in one fear-filled moment. "What do you think Cobol will do when they find out you not only found me, but that I worked with you on another job?"

"The price on my head will be back, and bigger than ever," Cobb said. "They'll come after me."

"They'll still know I live here!"

"No they won't," Cobb interjected. "If you agree, I'll call them and say my lead was dead, and that I'm flying to Cairo tomorrow to look there. Once the job with Browning is done, I'll tell them I found you in Saint Petersburg. You hate Russia."

Arthur stared down at the broken man in fury. "You haven't exactly given me a goddamn choice."

"So you'll work with me?"

"Work 'with' implies that I'm going into this freely. I'm working _for_ you."

"I know," Cobb said. He got to his feet, wobbling a little and wincing at the bruises Arthur's unrelenting punches had created. "I'm truly sorry about this, Arthur."

"Save it for someone who believes it," Arthur snapped.

Cobb looked away from Arthur towards Ariadne. Arthur turned around with him. She was still standing several feet away, her arms wrapped around her chest, hands clenching her arms in fear. She was staring solely at Arthur.

"Ariadne," Cobb croaked. "You know I'm not here to force you into this. You can walk away. I won't chase you."

"I know," she whispered. Her eyes were glistening, filled with unshed tears at the predicament Arthur was in. "But Cobb… What if you have a tail?"

"A tail?" Cobb repeated, confused. "I don't have a tail."

"Do you? It sounds like Cobol is watching your every move closely. It would be silly of them to not have someone following you."

Cobb's breath caught, recognizing the truth in her words. Arthur automatically glanced around, searching for someone or something…

"You have a point," Cobb conceded.

"So what's the use of me staying here?" Ariadne asked. "You have to leave Paris to help the illusion you're still hunting Arthur. If Cobol senses something is wrong, they'll focus on the last place things were right, the last place you had a supposed lead…"

"And they'll still hunt you down," Arthur finished for her. "Yes, you're right." He whipped his head around to face Cobb, eyes blazing. "God dammit. You've really done it, Cobb."

Cobb nodded in agreement. "I'm so sorry, Ariadne-"

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't apologize to me. I can't forgive you for ruining my life." She reached her hand out and Arthur took it without hesitation. She stared up into his face, and for a single blissful second, Arthur could pretend Cobb wasn't there, that this was just a normal night out with her. But she spoke to Cobb again, and the illusion was shattered.

"Not to mention his," she finished.

"You're going to London tomorrow?" Arthur asked Cobb, refusing to look away from Ariadne. His hand ghosted over the side of her face; it felt cold.

"Plane leaves at seven a.m."

"Get us two seats in first class," Arthur said monotonously. He finally looked away from Ariadne to face Cobb again. "I can't risk leaving her alone here."

Cobb took a long breath. "Thank you."

"Fuck you." Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation to face Ariadne again.

She nodded once at Cobb. "We'll meet you at the airport tomorrow."

Without another word or glance at Cobb, Arthur and Ariadne walked out of the alley, where Arthur hailed a taxi to take them home.

**Reviews excite me! Please share yours!**


	4. Such Great Heights

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**IMPORTANT: A reader has suggested that Cobb is OOC for selling out Arthur and Ariadne to Cobol. While I understand that it is pretty extreme, I don't really see it as out of character. I see it as this: he risked their lives in the movie (die, go to Limbo) and that was only to get home to his kids. A father would do anything to save his kids, and Browning has made a credible threat to their lives. Plus, one of the odd things about "Inception" is really the lack of character backstory. We have no idea what the relationship between Cobb and Arthur is. Like most people, I saw it as very close, and this will reflect in this story. But I stand by my belief that a father would destroy a close friendship in order to save his children. If this still doesn't seem believable enough, we see remorse from Cobb later on. Right now, he is just very terrified and very desperate.**

**That being said… I think this is my shortest chapter to date, perhaps shortest in the whole story. Sorry about that. But the background provided in this chapter is important for character backstory.**

**Chapter title from the song originally by the Postal Service; Iron & Wine's version fits so much better, and it's what I listen to…**

Such Great Heights

Monday, October 4, 2011: Paris, France: Arthur & Ariadne's apartment: Arthur

The sound of the shower running should've been comforting, but that night it was anything else.

Arthur lay on the bed. He was still dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing all day, having only removed his jacket and vest. His head rested on a pillow, his hands folded on his stomach. He stared up at the ceiling above him, a plain off-white color that looked innocent but made Arthur feel like he it was caving in on him.

Arthur's thoughts were running a thousand miles an hour, trying to find a loophole or flaw in Cobb's plan that would save them. But he couldn't find one. It was air-tight, the brainstorm of a man demented and lost. Post-Mal Cobb had been bad enough. But he never would've sold Arthur out.

_We were like brothers_, Arthur thought to himself. _He loved me, and I loved him_.

But was Cobb right in one thing? Would Arthur really sell Cobb out if Ariadne's life was at stake?

The bathroom door opening and a turn of his head was enough of an answer for Arthur: yes, he would.

But that didn't stop him from wanting to strangle the man.

Ariadne paused in the doorway, wearing only the towel she'd wrapped around her body. Her hair hung around her face, dripping water onto her shoulders, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the water. She looked exhausted and anxious all at once, but Arthur still thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She studied him. "Are you going to get ready for bed?"

He sighed. "I may never sleep again."

She bit her lip, but didn't comment. Instead, she moved around the room, picking out underwear and pajamas from her bureau and setting them on the bed. Arthur reached over and took hold of her arm, pulling her down to sit on the bed beside him. He sat up and kissed her bare shoulder, treating it like glass.

"I'm scared," he whispered, running his nose along the top of her shoulder until he reached her neck. He kissed her jugular, but didn't move his lips from the spot.

She found his hand and gripped it in her own, resting them on her thigh. "Me, too."

"Cobb knows how I feel about you, and he still used that against me…"

"He's desperate," Ariadne murmured.

He frowned, nudging the hair behind her head to the side and kissing the back of her neck. "That's no excuse."

"It's an excuse; but it doesn't guarantee absolution."

"Shit."

Arthur flopped back down in frustration and buried his face in his hands. Ariadne took the opportunity to change, pulling on her pajamas. She pulled the comforter of the bed back and clambered in, lying on her side to face Arthur, who remained on top of the blankets.

"Cobb has an excellent reason to blackmail us," Ariadne admitted. Arthur didn't move, but kept his hands on his face. She knew he was listening though and pressed on. "I know that if things were different, if they had taken you… I would threaten his children to get him to help me bring you back."

Arthur exhaled sharply, turning his body so they mirrored each other. She'd tied her hair back, so her face was open. Her eyes were perfectly clear, honest.

"No, you wouldn't. You're a better person than that."

"Am I?" She wondered. "I can't imagine not going to extreme lengths like that to save your life."

He blinked once. "I guess I can see that. It doesn't mean I'm ever going to forgive him for this."

"I know. And I agree."

Arthur leaned into the pillow, as if he could fall into it and hide there forever. "He was my best friend."

"I thought I was your best friend."

He allowed a small smile. "After you, of course." He got serious again quickly. "Cobb was one of the first people I met after I entered this world. He was one of my mentors. He's saved my life dozens of times, and I've saved his at least twice that much. Hell, I would've died for him if he'd asked me to. I just… It's so hard to wrap my mind around this."

She grimaced. "I saved his life on the Fischer job, and I followed him to limbo. I kept his problems with Mal away from the team, and I helped him overcome them. He should be worshipping me, not throwing me to the sharks."

"Exactly," Arthur agreed. "And you're so new to this, you've only done one job…" He exhaled. "Miles is going to be pissed."

"Maybe we _should_ worry about Cobb dying before he can get Cobol off your back."

Arthur chuckled once. "I'd rather be the one to end his miserable existence."

"I'll help. We can adopt his kids in repentance."

"Sounds like a plan," Arthur said softly.

They looked at each other for a long moment, not saying anything more. Arthur wondered what she was thinking about, and if it mirrored his thoughts: that he was more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. That he needed to make new documents to get her out of France after the job, and that he needed to find a new place for them to live.

That he couldn't lose her.

"Thank you for not leaving me," she said suddenly.

Arthur gawked at her. "Leaving you? Did you think I would even consider it?"

"No. It's just nice…"

"The moment Cobb mentioned you, I knew what he was going to say," Arthur explained. "And I knew there was nothing else that could be done. I lean more towards valuing your life over my own most of the time."

She laughed, a glorious sound to Arthur's ears. "Most of the time?"

"When you hog the covers, I do consider pushing you onto the floor," he admitted.

"Damn. I knew that habit would be the death of me."

"Clearly not," Arthur pointed out. "It happens almost every night, yet you're still alive. I must really love you."

"Only because I'm sleeping with you."

"That's right. How could I forget?"

"I don't know," she laughed. She took his tie in her hands and pulled him closer, so their foreheads were touching. He smiled, his mouth centimeters from her own. "It happens almost every night, after all," she teased, parroting his recent words.

"Hm…" He laughed with her, pressing his lips tightly to hers. He could feel her grin against his mouth and deepened the kiss, pouring all his fears and anxieties into her. She responded just as fiercely, pulling him even closer so every part of them was lined up.

_This is all that matters in the world_, he thought to himself.

Eventually Ariadne sighed, and wriggled her face into Arthur's chest. He curved his neck around her head, burying his face in her hair and smelling her favorite lavender shampoo. He wrapped his arms tightly around her back, feeling the water that had dripped into her shirt wet on his fingers.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair.

"Don't," she responded, equally as quiet. "I know you've been trying to come up with a way to get us out of this."

He kissed her hair. "You know me too well."

"I also know that you're undoubtedly blaming yourself right now."

Arthur frowned, but didn't refute this. "If I hadn't caught up to you at LAX last September… If I'd just let you get on with your life-"

"… Then I would be living in an apartment with two roommates from school, going out on boring dates with boys I couldn't care less for," Ariadne finished. "Don't wish I'd never met you, Arthur. Je ne regrette rien."

"I don't either," Arthur admitted. "I'm so selfishly happy you've let me love you."

He could practically feel her eyes roll against his collarbone. "You're a fool."

"Yes, I see why you would say that. Doesn't change a thing though."

"It really doesn't."

"I love you," he reminded her. She fisted her hands in his shirt, bringing him impossibly closer. Her eyelashes felt like butterfly wings against his heart now.

"I love you, too, you odd, self-hating, ridiculous man," she said.

Arthur chuckled and leaned back slightly, so he could see her face. Her hands remained wrapped in his shirt as he unwound his own from her back to hold her face.

"That's good," he said. "Because I've got a feeling you're stuck with me."

"Oh, the horror. I signed up for that when I moved in nine months ago."

"Did you?" Arthur asked. "Because living with your boyfriend shouldn't exactly equal life-threatening danger and sociopathic dream extractors."

Ariadne raised an eyebrow. "Most boyfriends aren't professional dreamers."

"Maybe you should find one of them."

"You just said I'm stuck with you," Ariadne sighed impatiently. "So why are you trying to get rid of me now?"

"I'm just reminding you that you do have options," Arthur pointed out.

"I don't want options," Ariadne said forcefully. "Just you."

He couldn't help but grin at that. "It's nice to hear you say that. I'll always want you, too, you know."

"I'm aware."

Arthur grinned even more broadly and placed one light kiss on her mouth again before hopping out of bed.

"Wait, wait," Ariadne called, confused. "What part of that conversation compelled you to move?"

"We have to catch a plane tomorrow morning," Arthur reminded her. "And I feel like the chance of sleep with Eames around will be even less likely."

She laughed. "Eames. I forgot about that."

"Lucky you."

"You don't think Cobb's told him then?" She asked as he yanked his shoes and socks off.

"I doubt it," he said, unknotting his tie with the air of someone who'd done it countless times before. "Besides, Eames will never believe it until he sees it."

"Good thing I'm coming along," Ariadne commented as Arthur unbuttoned his shirt. She sat up suddenly, as if something had struck her. Arthur hesitated, bewildered by her concerned expression.

"Ari…?"

"Sleep isn't going to be the only thing that's unlikely with Eames around," she said quickly.

Arthur paused, having shrugged out of his shirt. He had cottoned on to her words.

"You're right," he said slowly. He looked up at her, and she raised her eyebrows.

Without further explanation, he dropped his shirt on the ground and leapt onto the bed beside her, smothering her laugh with a long kiss.

**Aww. Last/first moment of fluff. Review please!**

**Guess the familiar face that joins the story in the next chapter…**


	5. I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love W You

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Title from the Tom Waits song. Love him.**

**And a change in point of view! This will happen more frequently as the story goes on.**

I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You

Tuesday, October 4, 2011: London, England: Portabello Road, Notting Hill: Ariadne

"Eames has a place in Notting Hill these days," Cobb said, not looking up from his cell phone. He was scrolling down a long message from a recent acquaintance of Eames', who'd completed a job with the forger just weeks before.

"I don't know when he moved out of Chelsea though," Cobb added, looking at Arthur as if he'd expected the man to ask.

Ariadne chose not to join the conversation. Rather, she looked out of the window as the van drove smoothly through the rainy and busy streets of London.

It was early morning in the capital. Their plane had landed half an hour before, and after a short stop at the hotel to drop off their bags, they were in a taxi van on their way to Eames' home. Ariadne sat alone in the backseat, while Cobb and Arthur sat in the two seats in front of her, tension crackling between them.

Even though he'd accepted it, Arthur wasn't anywhere close to letting his guard down around Cobb. He kept himself between Ariadne and Cobb at all times, forcing Ariadne to follow him as he stalked behind Cobb. She knew why, but was also sure the act was going to get old quickly.

"Three years ago," Arthur said. "His place is bigger now, though."

"Naturally," Cobb said. Arthur re-stacked the papers in the file together, and Ariadne glanced at the photo of Robert Fischer that lay on top.

Before they'd left their apartment, Arthur had gone through his files, pulling out anything relevant to Fischer, Browning and the inception job. He still had an impressive amount of information, most of which he'd brought along to give to Eames.

"I never thought I'd need this again," he'd commented to Ariadne when she saw him packing a stack of files and a small hard drive. She'd given him a small grimace and shrug in response.

It was raining lightly in London, pattering gently against the window. Ariadne sighed softly, resting her face on her hand. Arthur glanced back at her from his seat, but didn't comment.

Just a few minutes later, the van pulled to a stop. Cobb got out and Arthur followed, holding out his hand to help Ariadne from the back. The three of them studied the house as the van pulled away.

"Eames lives _here_?" Ariadne couldn't quite keep the skepticism from her voice.

It was a house, a full-blown house in a neighborhood of similar looking houses. It was painted a light tan in color, six windows on two floors facing the street. A small yard complete with rose bushes was fenced by a black wrought-iron gate.

Cobb checked the address. "Yeah, apparently."

Arthur was looking at the house with apprehension. "We must be mistaken."

"We'll see," Cobb murmured. He walked to the gate, pulling it open. Arthur followed close behind with Ariadne trailing him, still gawking up at the house.

She couldn't imagine Eames the thief, Eames the forger, living in such a pleasant looking house in a kid-friendly neighborhood. If anything, she figured he would live in a bachelor's pad somewhere deep in the heart of London, maybe near the red light district. Anywhere but on a quaint street with a rose garden, for God's sake.

She didn't say a word as Cobb climbed the steps and knocked lightly. They could hear heavy footsteps make their way to the door, stopping directly behind it. There was a short pause—Ariadne guessed Eames was peering through the peep hole—when the door was flung open.

"This is a surprise," Eames said.

He looked pretty much the same, Ariadne recognized. Dressed down in a dark sweater and tan pants, wearing leather boots. His hair was combed and beard scruffy; his hygiene hadn't improved. And he was grinning hugely, both in what seemed to be amazement and… Eagerness?

"Cobb," he said, wringing the extractor's hand. "This is going to be good, I can tell. How's the family?"

Cobb's face tightened. "Surviving." Eames raised an eyebrow and Cobb gestured towards the home. He stepped aside, allowing the three guests to walk in.

Eames' house was tidy, but rather sparse. Ariadne wasn't sure whether that was because he legitimately did not have much stuff, or if she was so used to the clutter in her and Arthur's apartment. A thick wooden staircase directly in front of the door led to the upper floor, while a dining room and living room flanked the hall.

"And look at who's with him," Eames continued. He'd turned to Arthur now, ignoring his proffered hand and clapping the younger man on the back with eagerness. "No surprises here. Always bursting with enthusiasm and excitement, my favorite stick-in-the-mud. How are you, darling?"

"Over the moon to see you again, Mr. Eames," Arthur said tightly.

"Your sarcasm never fails to warm my soul," Eames responded. He looked around, his eyes finally landing on the final visitor. Ariadne was gifted with Eames' biggest surprised expression.

"Here's the _real_ astonishment," he said, bypassing Arthur to reach Ariadne. He took her hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. He then looked her up and down once before planting a full kiss on her mouth.

Ariadne's eyes widened in bewilderment. Uncomfortably aware that Arthur was _right there_, she pulled her hands out of Eames', and pushed against his chest.

"Yep, definitely the same man," she gasped, able to breathe again.

"Don't sound so disheartened, love," Eames responded without pause. Ariadne's eyes flickered to Arthur; he looked like he'd been hit over the head with something heavy. Eames didn't notice this, too focused on appeasing Ariadne like a work of art. "It's only been a year, but you've changed quite a bit."

Ariadne flushed, taking her hand out of Eames' again and fiddling with the ends of her jacket nervously. "Thanks, I suppose."

"What I mean to say is that it's been too long, my lovely architect."

"Sure, Edward," she said. She was more concerned with Arthur's jaw, which was twitching slightly.

Cobb coughed. "Eames, I have something to talk to you about."

Eames grinned. "I gathered as much. I'm sure it's a perfectly honest and foolproof idea. Shall I make tea or break out the bourbon?"

"I'll take you up on the bourbon," Arthur said. Eames raised an eyebrow.

"Trying to unwind?" He commented, leading them into the living room. "You must be more uptight than usual."

Eames' living room was more up-to-date than the rest of his house. Ariadne sank down onto a leather couch, folding her hands in her lap. Cobb wandered to the only bookshelf in the place, scanning the titles. Eames went straight to a wooden cabinet upon which rested a high-tech music player. Arthur shadowed him as Eames procured a large bottle and several glasses.

"Ariadne, Cobb?" He asked. They both shook their heads and Eames poured two glasses.

"Cheers," Arthur told him. Eames grinned and clinked his glass against Arthur's. They both downed the shots in one, and Eames wasted no time in refilling them. This time though, Arthur walked away, sitting down next to Ariadne on the couch.

"So, Cobb," Eames said, flopping into a large black armchair and folding his legs. "Let me hear the pitch."

Cobb sighed, turning around from the bookshelf but keeping his hands in his pockets.

"I'm going to perform a reverse inception on Robert Fischer for Peter Browning."

Eames burst out laughing, clutching the arm of the chair for support. "You're joking."

"Hardly."

Eames' eyes swiveled from Cobb to Arthur and Ariadne on the couch, before turning back. "A reverse inception? Impossible, as I'm sure Arthur's already told you. If you remember, I was the only one who agreed that inception was possible in the first place, so if I'm saying this now-"

"I have to try," Cobb said, cutting him off.

Eames stilled, recognizing Cobb's tone as serious and strict. "What's the problem?"

"Browning has my children."

Eames whistled softly. "I see." He ran a hand over his face in thought, before shaking his head dejectedly.

"I'm sorry, Cobb, but it simply cannot be done. You'll have to explain this to Browning."

"You don't think I tried?" Cobb asked incredulously.

"The man's no fool, he must realize-"

"His entire life was ruined after the inception," Cobb snapped. Ariadne saw Arthur's leg twitch at the mention of ruined lives. "He's going to stop at nothing to get things back to normal."

"So you're roping us back into the mix?" Eames asked, nodding at Arthur and Ariadne.

"We've got the best shot together."

"Yes, well," Eames said, shifting on his seat and gulping some of the bourbon down. "I'm starting a job for a wealthy English lawyer in a week, who will be paying me _very_ handsomely for my services, so I'm afraid that I'll have to bow out of this one."

"Eames-"

"No, Cobb," Eames cut him off. "I'm contractually obligated to do this one. Very bad consequences if I don't. My chances of returning home will be diminished significantly."

Cobb leveled him with a fierce stare. "I think I can convince you."

Ariadne could see it click in Eames' expression then. Cobb's straightforward explanation, Arthur's stony expression and the way he'd downed his glass, and Ariadne's silence. In the space of only a minute, Eames considered his options and what Cobb knew about him. He eventually sighed deeply.

"I told you once before that I wouldn't hesitate to sell you out if it benefited me," he murmured. "So I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it's the other way around. Out of curiosity; which angle were you going to use?"

"All of them."

Eames nodded once. "You really are desperate." A strangled noise came out of Arthur's throat and Eames' gaze returned to the couch. He was thinking hard again.

"Let me see," he said, hopping to his feet and downing the rest of the bourbon. Arthur clenched his empty glass in his fist while Ariadne met Eames' expression calmly.

"Yusuf will go in for the money," Eames said thoughtfully, running his hand over his face again. "He's a sucker for a serious paycheck, he doesn't make much at his clinic in Mombasa… Ariadne-" She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting. He nodded and continued with, "Ariadne will help you out of pity. You're really too much of a sweetheart, love."

Ariadne grimaced, wondering when she should tell Eames he couldn't be more wrong.

"But Arthur…" Eames frowned and stopped his pacing, facing the point man from across the coffee table. Arthur set down his glass and leaned back, watching Eames patiently. "I heard you retired."

"I did," Arthur confirmed.

"So you're helping Cobb, because…" Eames looked bemused indeed. "Because you also pity him? Because you owe him for something he did for you once?" But he shook his head almost as soon as he spoke. "No, that's not strong enough to risk blowing your cover for. You did really well, you know. People have been asking me where the hell you are for a year."

Arthur smirked. "I'm glad to hear it."

"He must be blackmailing you as well then," Eames finished. "But that doesn't entirely make sense either. You're just as good as I am at forging documents, and you aren't wanted by international agencies, just corporations… There are still many places in the world you can hide to keep a low profile. As long as you stayed… Where were you?"

Arthur hesitated. "France."

"Alright, as long as you stayed in France you would've been untouchable," Eames said. "And the only thing that would slow you down from leaving is the variable of how long it'd take you to get your hands on a plane. Not long at all. So what does Cobb have over you?"

Arthur's jaw twitched again. "Something very important."

"I'll say. No wonder you look like you're about to kill something." His eyes flickered to Cobb, who stood straight. "Or should I say someone?"

As Eames studied Cobb, Arthur got to his feet, swirling the remaining bourbon in his glass. He walked towards the window, looking out at the street for a moment, his back to the rest of them, one hand in his pocket; Ariadne guessed he was fiddling with his dice. She looked at her folded hands on her lap.

Eames frowned at Arthur. "Will you share with the class, Arthur?"

"They already know," Arthur said, his emphasis on the 'they' implying he was describing the other people in the room.

"Alright, not the class then," Eames allowed. "Just me." Ariadne heard, rather than saw, Arthur turn around. His expression must've been stoic enough to cause Eames to huff loudly.

"Come now, Arthur," the forger pressed. On his other side, Cobb was watching Arthur with an inscrutable expression; even though he'd broken every other promise, there was no way Cobb would reveal anything about Arthur to Eames. Eames seemed to recognize this, glancing from Cobb and back to Arthur. "I'll find out soon enough anyway. We'll be working too closely for you to keep that big of a secret. So what is it Cobb has against you?"

Ariadne dug her nails into her thighs, gripping the denim of her jeans like her life depended on it. The moments passed.

Arthur's voice was soft when he finally answered Eames: "She's sitting on your couch."

You could've heard a pin drop. Ariadne couldn't stand Eames' stare, ripping holes into her face. She turned around instead, to see Arthur's face. His jaw was clenched and his face was tight, his arms wrapped around his stomach, the empty glass resting on the window ledge; but it was his eyes that really got her. They were dark, but intense; he was telling Eames he wasn't lying, and that Eames had better not say something that would merit a beating.

When Eames' response came, Ariadne was not ready for it. It was simple, but his tone said it all: "No."

She finally tore her eyes from Arthur's face, turning back around to look at Eames and Cobb directly. Clenching her hands together again, she raised her face to Eames'.

His eyes were huge, even wider than Cobb's had been. It was obvious now that he'd never anticipated Arthur's revelation, not in a million years. He shook his head gravely, a motion that he increased as his distress became clear.

"No, Arthur. No. You're smarter than that."

Arthur exhaled. "I didn't exactly make a conscious decision here, Eames."

"Bloody hell," Eames whispered. He sank back down into his seat. Cobb's ultimatum from before had nothing on this reaction. Ariadne watched him when he finally looked up again, to point a finger at her.

"You do know what you've signed up for, right?" He asked sharply. "What being with him means?" Behind her, she heard Arthur move. Before he could protest though, she spoke.

"Yes," Ariadne murmured. "I do."

"And yet…"

"Like he said, I didn't make a conscious decision to fall in love with him," she said gently. "It just… It happened."

"_When_?"

She raised an eyebrow at his choked tone. "Los Angeles. Last year."

Recognition blew over Eames' feature. "The Fischer job. I wondered where Arthur had gone after we got off the plane."

"Now you know," she whispered.

Eames nodded once. Ariadne felt the couch shift and she turned as Arthur sat down beside her. He maintained a distance of about a foot between them, but looked deep into her eyes for a moment before turning back to Eames, resting his arms on his knees. He raised his face to Eames'.

"And now you know why I had to agree to this," he said softly. "Cobb was going to sell her to Cobol, allow them to threaten her life in order to catch me. We wouldn't be able to run fast enough to escape."

Eames' lip twitched. "Yes, I do." He got to his feet swiftly, spinning around to face Cobb. He looked furious.

"My God, Cobb. I can't believe you'd do this to him. It's one thing to sell Arthur out, it's another to sell her… This could kill both of them, you know that, right?"

Cobb sighed. "I know."

Eames spluttered, evidently expecting a stronger denial from Cobb. "Do you?" He demanded angrily. "I thought you had… I don't know, loyalties, or something. Arthur's gone above and beyond to be the best bloody point man you could ever wish to have, and this is the thanks he gets? You're despicable."

Cobb hung his head. Ariadne glanced at Arthur and noticed he had a soft smile, enjoying Eames' condemnation.

"Ariadne," Eames said, moving away from Cobb. He walked to her side of the couch and knelt on the floor beside her. His eyes were full of apologies, and she stopped him before he could speak.

"Please, Edward," she whispered morosely. "Don't say you're sorry. It's not your fault."

"You don't deserve this," Eames croaked. Ariadne felt herself begin to shake; she'd never seen Eames like this, so full of regret and grief. It was like she was about to die. The thought sent a shiver through her. Arthur seemed to have had enough of that, for he reached over and took her hand. Eames' eyes darted to it.

"Neither do you, Arthur," he commented. The two men locked eyes, and Eames continued. "I knew something was up the moment you walked in. But I…"

"Eames," Arthur said tightly. "I know."

Eames dipped his head towards Cobb, raising an eyebrow at Arthur. "Why the fuck haven't you killed him yet?"

"I can't," Arthur said. "He's insured himself. Cobol knows he was in Paris last, so if he mysteriously stops calling…"

"… They'll fill in the silences," Eames finished in understanding. "I see." He looked back at Cobb. "Very good, Cobb. You've beaten the point man at his own game."

"I'm not proud of it," Cobb said in a restricted voice.

"Fat lot of good that'll do us," Eames snapped. He got up, pausing to run a hand over Ariadne's shoulder. She couldn't help but feel thankful for the support. Eames couldn't have been more that twelve years older than her, and he seemed to embrace the role of protective older brother. She would never admit it, but it comforted her.

Eames walked back to the bourbon, and the others turned around to watch him. He poured himself a generous glass and took a long gulp, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. He sighed deeply and faced them again.

"So what's the plan?"

**Review please!**


	6. This Is Why We Fight

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Chapter title from the Decemberists song.**

**Apologies in advance for all the French… it makes good practice. Translation at end.**

**Thanks to everyone who reads this and especially to those who favorite/review. Special thanks to cinematherapy and Shanynde for the flattering remarks! Wow!**

This Is Why We Fight

Wednesday, October 5, 2011: Paris, France: Paris Descartes University: Arthur

After giving Eames several hours to gather together all he needed, they boarded a late afternoon flight back to Paris. Eames kept his fury under wraps, but it broke out occasionally, and often in immature ways. For example, he refused to sit near Cobb on the plane, instead taking a seat in front of Arthur and Ariadne.

He was in an even worse mood once they landed at Charles de Gaulle and he needed to call his English employer, to tell him he couldn't do the job after all.

"He's hacked off," he'd grumbled to Arthur as they met in Arthur and Ariadne's apartment the next day. "Told me he was going to make my return trip to England _very_ unpleasant." He shot a glance at Cobb, who was typing urgently on a laptop in the chair under the window. "I expect you'll strangle, and then rip him to shreds after this, but leave a piece for me?"

Arthur had snorted, following Eames' gaze. "I doubt it, but I'll do my best."

So at two o'clock in the afternoon, Arthur found himself walking on to the Paris Descartes University campus. Though he loved the campus like a second home, he'd never wanted to be there less. Not only was he whittling away at the hours left with Ariadne (she and Eames were flying to Mombasa later that night to fetch Yusuf, while Cobb and Arthur flew to Boston an hour later; in a somewhat unusual twist, it'd been realized that the United States was one of a handful of countries in the world all five team members could travel through freely, and the only one that Browning had said he could oversee the inception in) but he had to do something deeply unpleasant. He had to explain to Madame Durant why he was taking an extended leave from his research.

He still wasn't sure what he was going to say to her. He was pretty sure that something along the lines of, "my psychotic ex-best friend is currently threatening my girlfriend's life if I don't do this impossible job for him, a job which will undoubtedly blow my cover anyway and expose me to multi-billion dollar corporations that would be overjoyed to see me dead" wouldn't work.

Madame Durant kept a blind eye turned when it came to Arthur. She'd known he was destined for so much when they met for the first time eleven years earlier, but he knew that she hadn't counted illegal extraction among those aspirations. His résumé was filled with blank holes, holes she'd commented on and taken Arthur's feeble explanations for without comment. His knowledge of dreams was enough to prove he was a top-tier candidate.

One glance in her office told him she wasn't there, and when he paused to think, he realized she was lecturing a graduate class on schizophrenia and other disorders today. He walked to her lecture hall and peered in through the closed door. Sure enough, Madame Durant stood at the front of the hall, going through a PowerPoint presentation.

Arthur opened the door, causing most of the class to turn around and look at him. Even Madame Durant paused, looking up the rows to see Arthur. He slid into the back row, as she shot him a loaded look before turning back to her lecture.

She finished half an hour later. Unlike her undergraduates, most of the graduate students were fluent French speakers and didn't require further explanation. So Arthur was able to approach her within minutes.

She was packing her bag and spoke without looking up. "Bonjour, Arthur."

"Bonjour, Geneviève," he replied. She straightened and leaned against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest. Arthur gripped the strap of his bag in response.

"Eh bien?" She asked. "Il faut bien l'entendre."

"Comment savez-vous qu'il ya quelque chose à entendre?" Arthur asked in confusion. Before flying to London the day before, he'd called in sick.

She frowned. "Si vous avez vraiment eu un rhume, vous ne seriez pas l'air aussi dévastée, Arthur. Ce qui ne va pas?"

Arthur sighed. As a psychology professor, Madame Durant was unusually perceptive. Even Arthur, the master of the poker face, couldn't always keep her out. In his heightened state, he wasn't surprised she'd read him so easily, and so quickly.

"Je dois aider un ami avec un emploi," he admitted.

She looked bemused. "Vous avez déjà un emploi."

"C'est un travail spécifique. Comme ce que j'avais l'habitude de le faire,"Arthur said softly. Madame Durant's face paled in understanding.

"Est-il dangereux?"

He was touched by her concern. "Oui. Mais je serai bien. Je suis un professionnel à ce, Geneviève."

She smiled, but her face was still scared. "Est-ce censé me rassurer?"

"Il se doit."

"Alors pourquoi regardez-vous si peur?"

Arthur's breath caught. He didn't give her nearly enough credit. Or maybe he was just that bad of an actor. Whatever it was, Madame Durant saw it. She touched his arm, wrapping her hand around his elbow. Her face was sad.

"Je n'ai pas peur pour moi," he swallowed as he spoke.

She nodded, and stunned him by speaking in English. "For the little girl."

He couldn't help but wince at her choice of words, but it wasn't her fault. She'd only met Ariadne once before, when one of Ariadne's classes had been canceled and she'd wandered to Descartes to visit Arthur at work. Madame Durant had been overjoyed to finally meet Arthur's girlfriend, and had wasted no time in showering Ariadne with compliments, one of which included, "You are the most adorable person I've ever seen." Ariadne _was_ rather small…

"For my girlfriend, yes," he confirmed.

"Oh, Arthur." She touched his face gently, but removed her hand quickly. She wasn't big on overstepping professionalism, even when it came to her protégé. "What kind of friend would do that to you?"

"A poor one."

"Yes," she agreed. She looked him over once more before nodding once. "Okay. Take all the time you need."

"Merci, Geneviève," Arthur murmured. He shook her hand for a moment before bounding up the stairs of the lecture hall. The call of his name made him turn. She was facing him from the front still.

"N'oubliez pas d'appeler," she said swiftly, reverting to her native tongue. "Pour me dire que vous êtes d'accord. Ou à tout le moins, que vous êtes en vie."

He smiled. "Je le ferai. Prendre soin, Geneviève."

"Bon chance, Arthur."

He left, exiting the lecture hall before Madame Durant could say anything else that would further cement his deep hatred of Cobb.

Most of the afternoon classes had already let out, meaning the campus was crowded with students and faculty. Arthur weaved his way through the crowd, side-stepping past the chattering people with ease. He kept his hands in his pockets, pulling his overcoat against him as he thought of what the next few hours held.

"Arthur!"

He stopped, looking around for the voice. He spotted it soon enough: Stephen Miles was waving at him from twenty feet away, standing near one of the campus' fountains.

Arthur lifted a hand in greeting and strolled over to Miles' side. He extended a hand, which Miles shook.

"There you are," Miles said smartly. He gestured to a bench and the pair sat. Arthur saw that Miles had been grading a stack of essays, which he was hurriedly putting in a briefcase. He snapped it shut and continued to speak.

"I was hoping I'd find you here," Miles said.

"Why?"

Miles set the briefcase down at his feet while Arthur unwound his bag from his shoulder, setting it down beside his own feet. Miles looked at Arthur with a very serious expression.

"I believe that Dom is looking for you."

_Ah_. Arthur almost smiled; he settled for a bitter grimace. "Oh, he was."

Miles frowned. "Was?"

"Yes. You're about two days too late. I went home on Monday and found him in my dining room."

"Well," Miles said gruffly. "I see."

"What made you think he was, anyway?" Arthur wondered.

"He hasn't been responding to my calls," Miles answered. At Arthur's look, he clarified, "To his house. No one's answered."

"And the logical conclusion…"

"He was hiding from me," Miles said. "I figured it was because he was doing something he knew I would not approve of. I guessed that would be some sort of illegal job, and I knew his first step would be to enlist you to help him with it."

Arthur nodded, impressed. "Very astute."

"So has he succeeded?"

"Oh, definitely," Arthur said.

Miles looked aghast. "Please tell me you're lying, Arthur. Why would you risk something like this? You haven't been working with Geneviève just to throw it all away. What about Ariadne?"

Arthur sighed, leaning his head on his hands and massaging his temple with his thumbs. "It's not that simple, Stephen." He raised his head, meeting the older man's bewildered eyes. "Dom has threatened to give Ariadne to Cobol if I don't comply."

There was a long silence, during which Arthur looked at everything but Miles. Around them, students were chatting loudly, planning their evening activities and asking each other out for a pick-me-up cup of coffee. Arthur had never felt so separate from them.

Miles sucked in a long breath. "I don't believe it."

"I wouldn't have, either," Arthur agreed. "Like I said, he was in the apartment when I got there. He held a gun to me for twenty minutes until Ariadne came. We went out and he laid out his sell. She considered it, until I had him tell her how he'd planned to hand us over to Cobol. We got up to leave; but he stopped us, by saying he had a direct line to Cobol's hit men, that some were in Paris, awaiting his call to our exact location." Arthur turned back to Miles, who looked devastated. "Dom knows me too well. He understands that I can leave at a moment's notice, that I can run by myself indefinitely. But he knows she can't. She has a real life, and a real family. And he knows I would never leave her, especially not to be killed. My hands are tied, Stephen."

"Why is he doing this?" Miles wondered. "What are the stakes?"

Arthur grimaced. "It's a job for Peter Browning. Stephen, he's taken the kids."

Miles stood up, his shock so pronounced. He stared down at Arthur in horror. "No."

"Unfortunately, I'm telling the truth," Arthur said softly. "Browning wants Dom to perform a reverse inception on Robert Fischer." He nodded at Miles' recognition. "The job we did last year, yes."

"So Dom wants you because-"

"-Because I'm the only point man in the world he trusts to get something like this done," Arthur murmured. "And I'm the one with the best shot at getting it right. And to perform a reverse inception… You know as well as I do that the attempt is nothing less than madness."

"But he has to try," Miles said.

"He does. I don't even know what…" Arthur shook his head, unwilling to finish the thought. He continued to rub his face in his hands.

Miles sank down onto the bench again, beginning his recovery process. Arthur shook his head roughly against his hands and straightened, slapping his palms on his knees and facing Miles.

"I'm sorry, Stephen," he said brokenly. "I really thought I could do this. I thought I could walk away from it all without hurting her. That I could have that kind of past and a life with her."

Miles shook his head, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "No. I thought you'd done it too."

"I was so close," Arthur murmured. "God. I thought I could protect her. I told you I would. But all I've done is ruin her life. She'll never be free again."

"Arthur," Miles interjected. "Arthur, listen to me: there is no one in the world I trust to protect Ariadne Chopin more than you. You are a good man, a remarkable one, with strong morals and a conscience, even after everything you've seen and lived through. You're loyal to the ones you love, and no woman can ask for more than that."

"But-"

"What happened with Dom…" Miles shook his head. "You couldn't have seen that coming. I didn't, obviously, or I'd have never told him you were retiring. I should apologize to you for that, shouldn't I?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. He would've found me anyway, I expect. Besides, if I don't get to blame myself, you don't get to either."

Miles chuckled once without humor. "Okay, Arthur. Who else is Dom bringing into this?"

"The same from before," Arthur said. "Us, then Eames and Yusuf."

"The best possible team, I suppose."

"That's the general idea," Arthur agreed. He exhaled tightly. "But this job… It's impossible, Stephen. We'd have to go deeper than during the original inception to remove that buried idea we planted. So many dream layers, limbo on our backs, Browning's men in the real world following our every step…" Arthur shook his head and fixed his serious gaze on Miles. "One of us isn't going to make it."

Miles wasn't a stupid man. He didn't require explanation for Arthur's words. He simply nodded, folding his hands in a similar manner to Ariadne's fixed posture when she considered something.

"I think you're right."

"You know what I'm asking, Stephen," Arthur whispered.

Miles nodded minutely. "You want me to watch over her if you don't come back."

"Even with me dead, there's a solid number of corporations and hit men that won't end their search for vengeance," Arthur said softly. "If anything, they'll go after my money. And I updated my will seven months ago; I've left everything to her. I need to know you'll get Ariadne away from here, and keep her hidden from them, for as long as it takes them to tear what I've left behind apart."

"Understandable," Miles said. "I take it Ariadne doesn't know you're telling me this?"

"I hadn't realized I would be until I started talking," Arthur admitted. "But no, I wouldn't have told her. She wouldn't take it very well."

"Course, knowing the man you love is planning to die for you wouldn't sit well with anyone," Miles commented. Arthur grimaced again, keeping his arms pressed against his legs. He rocked his feet back for a moment as Miles considered this.

"I have the most to lose here," Arthur continued. He wasn't really speaking to Miles anymore; he was mostly talking to himself. "Dom's got a shot at getting his children alive, as long as the reverse inception takes hold. But I have no guarantee of seeing her alive even if it does work out. She could die in there."

"Does she have to come in?"

"Most likely," Arthur sighed. "Dom's practically insane with stress and worry. He's unstable, and he needs someone to keep him in-check. Ariadne did that last time, and she succeeded, so…"

"Dom will want to recreate that success," Miles finished again. Arthur nodded.

"I can't lose her, Stephen," he whispered in a defeated voice, like a man who was already looking at the inside of his grave. "I can't watch her die, not without doing everything in my power beforehand. If it comes down to my choice… I'll pick her, every time."

"Do the others know this?"

Arthur growled. "Who the fuck knows what Cobb thinks these days. But he knew that threatening to give her to Cobol was enough to get me to comply, so yeah; I'd say he's aware I'd rather die than her. I'll explain the situation to Yusuf when I see him in a couple days. As for Eames… He has more affection for her than he does for me. He'd let me die without much pause if it meant saving her. He would be the one to put her on a plane back to you."

Miles nodded thoughtfully. "You've covered your bases well."

"Might be the last thing I ever do," Arthur said with a hollow chuckle. Miles gripped his shoulder again, sadness in his features.

"You are a selfless man, Arthur," he murmured. Arthur closed his eyes tightly. "You might question your worthiness, but… It's clear now that Ariadne is quite lucky to have you. Not many men would be so willing to give up his life, nonetheless to plan for it like you have."

"That's me," Arthur said. "Point man to the end."

Miles smiled gently. "No wonder Dom is so insane to get you."

Arthur stood, pulling his bag up with him. Miles followed, his briefcase in hand. The two men faced each other, the fountain pouring water softly behind them.

"Does Geneviève know where you're going?" Miles asked.

"I just told her I have a job," Arthur explained. "But she's aware I'm not doing it willingly. She told me to be careful, and to call to tell her I'm alive."

Miles smiled sadly. "If you don't return, I shall track her down when this is all over as well, then."

"Thank you," Arthur murmured. They studied each other for a long moment. Then to Arthur's amazement, he felt himself being pulled in for a warm hug.

"Don't give up hope yet, Arthur," Miles said.

"I haven't," Arthur said. They broke apart and Arthur offered a soft grin. "At the very least, I'm not wasting a moment."

"Then get out of here. Go to her."

"Always," Arthur said. He gave Miles one more small smile and a wave, and vanished into the crowd.

**Review please!**

Genevieve: Well? Let's hear it.

Arthur: How do you know that there's something to hear?

G: If you really had a cold, you would not look so devastated, Arthur. What's wrong?

A: I have to help a friend with a job.

G: You already have a job.

A: This is a specific job. Like what I used to do.

G: Is it dangerous?

A: Yes. But I'll be fine. I'm a professional at this, Genevieve.

G: Is that supposed to reassure me?

A: It should.

G: So why do you look so scared?

A: I'm not afraid for me.

G: Do not forget to call. To tell me that you are okay. Or at least that you're alive.

A: I will. Take care, Genevieve.

G: Good luck, Arthur.


	7. Here, There, and Everywhere

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Chapter title from the Beatles! All hail!**

**Surprise! Two new chapters. I am going out of reach of internet for a bit so you have this chapter and chapter 8 to enjoy while I am gone. (Also, I have posted a separate one-shot, if you are interested.)  
**

**And a new point of view!**

Here, There, and Everywhere

Wednesday, October 5, 2011: Paris, France: Charles de Gaulle International Airport: Eames

The sound of a plane overhead sent the airport rumbling, even though it was definitely built for that sort of thing. Eames didn't even blink, still standing with his hands in his pockets, his suitcase resting beside him. He was placed directly under the board for departures, studying the long list. Only two flights were of importance to him: the first, Flight 2237 to Nairobi via Kenya Airways; the other, Flight 119 to Boston via Air France.

Both were listed as on-time. The flight to Nairobi would depart in twenty minutes.

The airport was packed and loud, filled with people moving to all the corners of the world. Eames was a fan of airports; they functioned like him. On the outside, utterly disorganized and irritating; but on the inside, perfectly organized and an occasional treat. Eames turned around slowly to scan the airport behind him.

Cobb was hovering just a few feet away. Unlike Eames, he was sitting in a row of chairs, a copy of the New York Times unfolded in front of him. His suitcase was neatly tucked on the seat next to him. Against his better judgment, Eames wandered over, flopping down nearby. He retained the distance of an open seat between them though.

Cobb looked up. "Don't you have to board?"

Right on cue, a tinny announcement came on, just loud enough for the people in the general vicinity to hear: "De première classe pour le vol 2237 à Nairobi est maintenant un embarquement à porte 29."

Eames sighed as the voice switched to English: "First class for Flight 2237 to Nairobi is now boarding at gate 29."

"Yeah, we will," he muttered. "But not just yet." Cobb looked confused, and folded his paper, looking around for Eames' traveling partner. He followed Eames' gaze and froze.

They were standing beside the windows, beyond which the huge airplane bound for Kenya waited, glimmering in the light provided against the dark night of Paris. Around them, passengers were already lining up and the queue line was growing by size. Even with people stalking past them, dragging heavy bags, screaming toddlers and generally bad attitudes, they didn't move. They were in their own moment, alone.

Eames was just impressed they weren't attracting attention. Not because they were sucking the other's face off; but because the moment was so heartbreakingly intimate, it would make the toughest man stumble.

Arthur's arms were wound tightly around Ariadne's back, her bag hanging off his shoulder, his own dropped on the floor. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her whole body stretched in an effort to press her forehead against his. Arthur's grip on her was enough that she was barely putting any weight on the ground as she hovered on her toes.

Eames glanced at the few passersby who stared unashamedly at the embracing couple, and he tried to imagine Arthur and Ariadne through their eyes.

They did look oddly different, more of a contrast than normal.

Arthur was dressed in his usual, which today meant a black three-piece suit, the jacket unbuttoned but everything else still in place. Every hair on his head was perfectly slicked back and neat, while his shirt was immaculately pressed. Eames was also prepared to bet that the documents in the inside pocket of his jacket—passport, ticket, whatever else—were organized in the order he would need them to board his plane.

Meanwhile, Ariadne was dwarfed by him, especially in their current position with the way his spine curved around her form. She was dressed for the heat of Kenya, wearing blue Converse sneakers that literally paled next to his ever-present dress shoes, her bare legs in khaki shorts that reached mid-thigh and even more literally paled next to his dark pants, and layered tank-tops and light windbreaker that was pressed against his suit jacket and vest. They matched at their necks: he sported a crisp forest green tie; she wore a light green scarf. Not to mention, their age difference was more pronounced than ever before; she looked every bit the college student, while he was a cross between wealthy politician and attorney.

He was speaking to her, his lips moving at a pace too fast for Eames (and anyone else for that matter) to keep up. Whatever it was struck a chord with her though; her hands fisted in the back of his jacket, while she nodded furiously, her eyes closed. He hadn't stopped talking by the time she pressed her lips to his hollow cheek.

Eames looked away, rubbing his eyes with his hands as he glanced at Cobb. The extractor was completely still, eyes glued to the couple by the window.

"They don't really look like they belong together, do they?" He commented, echoing Eames' own thoughts, and likely the thoughts of other eyewitnesses.

"Not really," Eames had to agree. "But you know what they say; opposites attract." He hesitated, and added, "Plus, there's no denying the way they feel about each other. They're not really doing anything, but I feel like I need to leave the building to give them privacy."

"I agree," Cobb murmured.

Eames swallowed. "If one of them dies…"

Cobb nodded tightly. "The other won't do so well."

"Like you and Mal, all over again."

"You're right," Cobb admitted. "I can tell myself all I want that they couldn't possibly be like us, that they haven't been together long enough to feel that way, but…"

"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt," Eames finished. He couldn't help but look back at the couple, who were both still so wrapped up in the other they weren't even glancing to check in with Eames and Cobb, nor to notice the departures board and the clock. Eames was pretty sure the plane could leave and they wouldn't figure it out until he was halfway to Kenya.

"I wish Arthur could somehow go with her instead," he muttered. Cobb twitched uncomfortably and Eames felt a perverse feeling of satisfaction.

The fact that Cobol operated heavily in Mombasa was reason enough for Arthur to keep away. But another reason was the fact that Cobb wouldn't dare allow Arthur and Ariadne to fly to the other side of the world by themselves, where they could never be seen again.

Eames heard the announcer come back on, saying the back rows of the plane would now be boarding. He sighed deeply and checked his watch, frowning and running a hand over his beard.

"A little longer."

Cobb smiled sadly and reopened his newspaper.

"What are you and Arthur doing in Boston, anyway? I thought you had to meet with Browning in L.A.," Eames wondered.

"We're meeting him on Thursday night, when my time to find a team runs out," Cobb grounded out. "We'll get the parameters and logistics of the job down then."

"That doesn't explain why you're going to Boston. This airport flies directly to L.A."

"Arthur's told me Ariadne's as good as any of us," Cobb explained. "But… I'm concerned we'll need someone else to go as deep as we'll have to. Someone stronger, physically and psychologically. Or at the very least, as an extra pair of hands."

Eames stared at him. "You mean-"

"We may have to recruit another," Cobb confirmed. "And not just any other: they'll need to understand the ins and outs of shared dreaming while retaining a background in weaponry."

Eames almost laughed. "You need another Arthur."

"Yes, essentially."

"Hm." Eames looked back at the couple and wished he hadn't. They were kissing now, deeply and in a way that he was certain neither would've approved of in a public setting if the situation wasn't so dire. "Arthur's unique though. Where the bloody hell do you intend to find one?"

"I was thinking we'd visit the place I hired Arthur in the first place."

Eames' interest was piqued. He'd just realized that he didn't know where Cobb and Arthur had met. "I thought he met Mal first."

"He did. Mal was a graduate student at Paris Descartes when she met Arthur, who was a third-year undergrad studying abroad for a semester. He flew back home at the end of the semester and finished his degree at his school," Cobb explained. At Eames' pointed expression, he sighed and clarified, "Harvard. Arthur earned a degree in psychology from Harvard University."

Eames whistled softly. "Damn. Of course he did."

"I forgot," Cobb murmured. "That even with all the jobs you've worked with him, that it doesn't mean you _know_ him…"

"I went to Oxford, for the record."

"Of course you did," Cobb chuckled. "Anyway, that's the plan. Arthur's work at Paris Descartes, not to mention his status as an alumnus, has put him in the premium position to offer a 'work placement' to any psychology graduate student. It'll be much harder to find one that also knows how to fight."

"Yeah, with all those nerds and geeks," Eames commented. "Do tell; how did dear Arthur learn to fight?"

But Cobb was shaking his head. "That's a story for him to tell you. It's complicated." He got to his feet, nodding at the clock. Eames and Ariadne had about five minutes to board the plane.

Eames sighed and followed Cobb's lead, getting to his feet as well. In silence, the two men grabbed their suitcases, making their way over to the couple by the window.

Arthur saw them coming, his expression returning to its usual all-business state. He nodded at them once, before kissing Ariadne's forehead and murmuring into her skin. She pulled her face from his chest, turning her head to see the two men. She sighed deeply and turned back to Arthur, who gently placed her bag on her shoulder.

Even from ten yards away, the phrase she said to Arthur was clear as day: "I love you."

As was Arthur's response, his mouth forming the words Eames couldn't hear: "I love you, too."

They'd broken apart, only keeping their hands entwined by the time Cobb and Eames stood beside them. Eames kept his gaze locked on Arthur's face. The point man stared back, his eyes holding an eerily empty look.

But his voice was hard as steel when he spoke. "Take care of her, Eames."

Eames nodded once. "I will."

Ariadne rolled her eyes at the exchange, turning to Cobb with an eyebrow raised. "Please make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Even Arthur cracked a grin. Cobb's voice was warm when he answered, "I'll do my best, Ariadne."

"Thanks." Ariadne's face was tight as she turned back to Arthur. He took her face in his hands and kissed her sweetly.

"I'll see you in a couple days," he reminded her. "Remember what I said about Mombasa. Stick with Eames and you'll be fine. Don't hesitate to call me, at any time, even if it's two a.m. in the U.S."

"I won't forget," Ariadne said brusquely. "Same goes with you, you know."

"I know." Arthur raised his face to Eames'; the pair locked eyes for a moment, Arthur silently conveying all the painful things he would do to Eames if something happened to Ariadne in Mombasa. "Got everything?"

"Think so." Eames reached into his jacket pocket, procuring his passport and ticket. The others followed his lead, revealing passports and tickets. Eames studied each ticket swiftly, pausing on Arthur's.

"Zaleski?" He read, surprised. "Huh. I haven't heard that one before." He studied Arthur for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you could pull off Russian. I still think Jewish is your best bet though."

Arthur smirked, looking at Eames like he was enjoying a private joke. Eames shrugged it off, holding out a hand and shaking Arthur's.

"Have a safe flight home, Arthur," he said. "Say no to whatever those crazy Harvard kids offer you. Things are different now than they were then."

"Oh, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, smirking more broadly while shaking Eames' hand. "You've still got so much to learn about me."

Eames raised an eyebrow, releasing Arthur's hand. He turned to Ariadne, offering his arm. "Ready, Ms. Chopin?"

She sighed, eyes flitting to Arthur's. He brought their entwined hands up to his lips, kissing the back of hers lightly before letting it fall and breaking their contact. Ariadne took a deep breath, finally taking her eyes off Arthur's, and offered Eames a smile with effort.

"Yes, Mr. Eames." She grasped his arm.

Eames nodded once at Cobb, while Ariadne settled with giving the extractor a steely gaze, not unlike the one Arthur had just given Eames.

"Good luck," Cobb said. It was the only thing he could offer in place of a proper goodbye. Arthur didn't say a word; only stared at Ariadne like he was trying to imprint this image of her in his memory.

Eames gave a gentle tug on her arm and Ariadne fell into step, walking with him to the gate. He let her go first, hovering as she presented her ticket and passport to the attendant. She waited at the door while he got his checked.

"Had a hard time saying goodbye?" The attendant asked pleasantly in a lilting French accent, having recognized his British passport.

Eames grimaced. "Something like that."

Once he'd gotten his passport back, he nodded at Ariadne. She looked past him for a moment, her expression carefully guarded and reassuring. Eames glanced around; Arthur's poker face had slipped, revealing the fear and anxiety he'd been suppressing. Upon noticing Eames was watching though, he rolled his shoulders and put the mask on, raising a hand in farewell.

Eames did the same. Ariadne turned away and he allowed her to lead him along the tunnel towards their plane.

**Review, please! I assure you, the chapters will increase in size as the story goes on!**


	8. No Church In The Wild

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Here is your second of new chapters! (This was uploaded along with chapter 7, so make sure you read that too.) Song title from the Jay-Z, Kanye West and Frank Ocean song.  
**

**The point of view is a little wonky. It was originally Arthur, but I realized writing in his point of view might give away more of his past than I want to be revealed right now. So it sort of changes to Cobb in the middle.**

**I've never been to Harvard, but I like maps. This was the result. I have no idea how accurate my locations are, but they are all real buildings. Oh yeah, Bristol is my own Original Character.**

No Church In The Wild

Wednesday, October 5, 2011: Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University: Arthur/Cobb

Arthur frowned out the window of the rented car, watching as the rain dumped sheets of water over the passenger's side window. It was just after 6:00 local time, following the seven hour flight from Paris. They'd gone back in time, having chased the sunset.

_Ariadne and Eames_ _will be almost to Nairobi_, he thought to himself.

It was hard to believe how drastically things had changed. Even as he recalled the facts of the case repeatedly in his mind, nothing had quite sunk in. Two days ago, he'd thought he was living his dream, leading a normal life, with a good job and a girlfriend he loved more than anything in the world.

Now he was sitting in a Buick, racing across the dark streets of Cambridge to his alma mater, where he would try and recruit someone to join his real-life nightmare.

He knew it would be easy to convince one of the enthusiastic psychology students to join. This life looked so glamorous, with private airplanes and five-star hotels, all the while carrying the knowledge that what you were doing was something no one else could do. He remembered the thrill, and wondered…

_If I could do it again, would I change anything_?

"Do you know where to start this late?" Cobb asked. "Will most students be at dinner?"

"Not the serious ones," Arthur murmured. "Let's visit Professor Bristol first."

"Who?"

Arthur's jaw clenched. "Isaac Bristol is the head of the psychology department. He was promoted to that position two years ago. When I was here, he was an associate, specializing in states of consciousness…"

Cobb's mouth twitched in understanding. "He's your Professor Miles."

"You could say that. But you know very well that I wasn't taught to dream like you were."

Cobb frowned, obeying Arthur's clipped tone. He chose to drop the subject, instead focusing on navigating the busy Cambridge streets. Arthur looked back out the window in silence.

Harvard University loomed up in front of them. Arthur directed Cobb to a parking lot, letting him drive past building after building without offering a single comment or opinion. Cobb didn't say anything in return, feeling tense and uncomfortable enough. He sure didn't like this side of Arthur. It was worse than his usual point man demeanor; this was Arthur, grimmer and more solemn than ever before.

They parked the car near Harvard Yard. Arthur led the way, approaching the gate to campus. He shared a few quick words with a guard before beckoning Cobb forward. They walked through the gate without incident.

Cobb opened his mouth to ask, but Arthur waved at him. "Don't bother." Cobb clenched his mouth shut.

Arthur led the way through Harvard Yard, his hands buried in the pockets of his thick coat, ignoring the rain that soaked his hair. Cobb followed without complaint, his bag with the silver briefcase tucked inside banging against his shoulder, only studying the faces of the numerous students they passed. Most were hidden under umbrellas or rain jackets, mostly ignoring the two men. But Cobb couldn't help and notice how Arthur drew many of their stares; apparently dark and brooding was attractive to Harvard women.

They reached a new gate, which they passed through without incident. Arthur and Cobb marched down street after street, their names swimming in Cobb's mind.

Eventually they reached a tall white building, lights still blazing brightly through the windows. Cobb noticed a small sign out front, emblazed with the emblem of Harvard: William James Hall.

"Excuse me."

Arthur's call made Cobb's head snap up. Arthur was jogging to the front of the building, where a single female student was exiting. She looked confused as Arthur approached, taking in his very formal appearance. Cobb approached as Arthur spoke quickly to the girl; whatever he said must've worked, because she held the door for them, allowing them to pass.

"Thank you," Cobb said. The girl gave him a slight nod, still bewildered.

Their shoes squelched on the wooden floors of the hall. Cobb followed Arthur as he leapt up two staircases, swinging around the banisters with the ease of someone who'd walked them many times before.

"You studied in this building?" Cobb guessed.

"Practically lived here," Arthur confirmed. "The head's office is up on the third floor."

He eventually walked off the staircase on the third floor. Cobb side-stepped another small gaggle of students; it looked like Harvard kids never stopped studying. Arthur ignored them, walking in a straight path to a door near the end of the corridor. He knocked once.

"Yes?" Called a voice from inside. Arthur shot Cobb a look and pushed the door opened.

Cobb's first impression was that it was a cliché: the stereotypical office of a senior college professor. The desk was a rich mahogany, surrounded by stacks and stacks of notebooks, textbooks and loose paper. The walls were bordered with bookshelves, stuffed to the brim with thick research books. A ceiling fan buzzed overhead, its lights reflecting harshly on the windows, which revealed nothing but darkness from outside. A fireplace roared gently on the side of the room, framed by two armchairs.

"I'll be damned."

Cobb's gaze snapped to the desk again. A man, probably in his late-fifties, was sitting in a leather chair behind it. His hair was black as coal, eyes a light shade of green. He sported round-rimmed glasses and his face was thin. He was wearing a steel-colored suit, though the jacket was hanging off the chair, his tie askew. Currently, the man's jaw was dropped open.

The man stood, gripping the chair for support. "I never thought I'd see your mug here again."

He was talking only to Arthur. Arthur smiled, returning his hands to his coat pockets. "A shame, I'm sure."

"A _shame_?" The man repeated. "Only if seeing one's favorite student is a shame. I am very happy to see you, Arthur Zaleski, no matter how peculiar the visit is. It's been far too long."

Arthur walked around the desk, standing beside the man's chair. Cobb could now see that the man was rather short, the top of his head at the level of the top of Arthur's lips. But what he lacked in height, he more than made up for with enthusiasm at seeing Arthur.

"You're all grown up!" The man exclaimed warmly. "Look at you! What a suit! You mean business."

Arthur chuckled, accepting the man's extended hand. They gripped each other's hands warmly, more like old friends than a teacher and his former student.

"Professor Bristol-"

"Isaac, _Isaac_, my dear protégé," the man huffed. "You haven't been my student in almost a decade now. How old are you these days?"

"My thirtieth birthday was four months ago."

"Thirty!" The man cried. "My God. Yes, we are past our days of Professor Bristol. I ought to be calling you Mr. Zaleski."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Please, don't. Arthur is more than fine."

"Who is your acquaintance?" The man wondered, frowning at Cobb over his glasses.

"I was in the process of making an introduction," Arthur said. "Isaac, this is my… Associate, Dominic Cobb. Cobb, this is my former professor, Isaac Bristol."

Cobb held out his hand, which Bristol took. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Bristol."

"Oh, if Arthur can get away with Isaac, I suppose you can too," Bristol interjected quickly.

"Then Dom for me."

"Deal," Bristol said. "Please, make yourselves comfortable." Arthur and Cobb pulled off their coats and sank down into the two empty seats in front of Bristol's desk. The professor began to shove aside various papers in order to see them better. Cobb caught some keywords of a couple of them: "Synthetic Realities," "Psychic Surgery," and "Anterograde amnesia."

"How have you been, Isaac?" Arthur asked.

"Splendid," Bristol gushed. "I would tell you I'm now head of the department, but judging that you found me here, I'd guess you already know that." Arthur's smile told Bristol he was correct.

"But I'm also positive that none of us really want to know how I've been," Bristol said quickly, waving a hand airily. "No, no… Arthur, please, tell me what you've been up to since your graduation?" He paused and looked at the point man over his spectacles. "How are your legs?"

Arthur's hand instinctively moved to his leg, his left hand rubbing his thigh, a habit almost a decade in the making. He straightened, catching himself with a light cough. "Great, Isaac. I'm doing very well. Completely recovered."

Isaac smiled gently. "I doubt that, Arthur. There are some things in this world we never fully recover from." A short, awkward silence, fell between the pair. Bristol seemed to have finally caught on that Arthur's visit wasn't purely social, or even social at a latent level. He studied both men, and leaned forward, resting his head on his hands as he surveyed them.

"Why are you here, Arthur?"

Arthur swallowed. "That depends."

"Oh?" Bristol pressed.

"How much you know about me," Arthur murmured.

Bristol threw up his hands. "About _you_? My dear friend, I know next to nothing. The last time I saw you was in December 2001, the day you officially graduated from this school. You were just out of crutches, and I remember you shook my hand and refused my request to help you move your things to your car. I told you to call me if you ever needed my help, and you left. I've asked other professors if they've heard of what became of that mysterious young man who was in that dreadful accident-"

"Right," Arthur interrupted swiftly. "I'd like to apologize, Isaac. I know you liked me-"

"Liked? Of course I did! Everyone here adored you, Arthur."

Arthur blushed, but pressed forward. "And I know I behaved incredibly immaturely when I left. But I want to tell you why I never contacted you."

Cobb froze, staring at Arthur. Was he really going to-

"It was for your safety."

Bristol frowned, confused, at Arthur's words. "My safety?" He repeated, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur took a deep breath. "How is Harvard's shared dreaming program?"

It hit Bristol then, what Arthur was trying to tell him, without outright saying it. His jaw went slack, and he fell back in his chair with a thud. He kept his hands folded though, and Cobb noticed the professor wore a gold wedding band on his left hand.

"My God." Bristol's voice was a croak. "Arthur."

"This is why I never came back," Arthur murmured. "I haven't talked to anyone stateside in ten years."

Bristol's gaze snapped back to Arthur as he spoke. Then his eyes flickered to Cobb, understanding washing over them. "And you are…?"

"An extractor," Arthur clarified.

"So you…"

"They call me the point man," Arthur explained. "I'm the one who researches, assigns, coordinates. I protect the dreamers. I make sure they come out okay, that we get what we went in for."

"You are a thief," Bristol said harshly.

Arthur nodded once. "That I am."

"My friend, you could've gone anywhere. What with your story, and the first class education you received at this university…" Bristol looked broken. "All those employers desperate to interview you, dozens of open positions, millions of dollars waiting… You threw it all away?"

"For something far greater than money could give me," Arthur interjected. "I love it, Isaac. Dream sharing is my life. There's nothing else quite like it. It's… It's freedom. It's everything we've ever wanted as humans. The right to envision and design worlds, limitless lands that couldn't exist anywhere else. To experience emotions without restraint, live without boundaries… It's pure creation. I live for it."

Bristol looked like he'd been hit over the head with a brick. Cobb felt a warm rush of affection for Arthur at his speech. Once upon a time, he'd felt exactly like Arthur. But over time, that feeling had faded. The stakes grew in its place.

"Oh Arthur," Bristol groaned. "Well. I guess I can't fault you for following your passion." He sighed deeply. "You're right. I miss it so much… Harvard ended its program only a year or two after you left. The military leaned on us to do it. Was that because of you?"

"I won't be so megalomaniacal to take all the credit," Arthur said thoughtfully. "But I don't think you're exactly off-base there."

"So much sorrow," Bristol said. His gaze was distant, thinking to the past. "We had the best program in the country. But shared dreaming was too unknown to be researched at universities, with so many young and easily influenced minds. They shut every such program down. But I hear universities abroad continue to experiment."

Arthur nodded. "I'm a dream researcher at Paris Descartes. They have an excellent program."

Bristol sighed. "I'm so very jealous. I haven't used a PASIV in almost six years now."

"Today might be your lucky day."

Bristol's eyes snapped to Cobb, as the man bent down and opened his bag. Bristol let out a wordless exclamation when Cobb picked up the silver briefcase.

"You have one?" He asked breathlessly.

"They're not so difficult to find overseas," Arthur commented.

Bristol held out his arms. "May I?"

Cobb passed the case to the older man. He took it gingerly, his hands shaking, as he gazed down at the case. It was like he was looking at a former lover, one he would never stop caring deeply for. Cobb and Arthur watched him, waiting.

Bristol finally looked up. "You still haven't explained why you are here."

"I've been hired to do a job," Arthur explained. Cobb felt grateful for Arthur's wise word choice, until he reasoned it must've been because Arthur didn't want to explain the dynamics of their current relationship. "It begins in Los Angeles in two days. I'll spare you the details, but we're looking for an addition to our team. Someone who understands lucid dreaming but has a background in… Extracurricular activities." Arthur paused. "Someone like me."

Bristol nodded. "I see. Is it illegal?"

"Technically. The mark-"

Bristol waved his hands furiously, finally releasing the case. "Please, don't. Say no more. I understand." He leaned back in his chair, studying the case once more. "You are looking for a recommendation."

Arthur nodded. "It's not exactly something we can publish in the 'help wanted' section of the paper."

"Quite right," Bristol agreed. He sat up, a calculating look in his eye.

"Say I give you the name of my best student," he said smoothly. "A student who is the closest I've ever seen to rivaling you, Arthur, in learning and experimentation. Who conveniently has a background in martial arts and hunting. What's in it for me?"

This was unexpected. Arthur and Cobb exchanged a glance. It was Cobb who came up with the perfect solution.

"We _could_ offer payment," Cobb said slowly. "But I think we have something even more desirable." He nodded at the case. "We'd need to take your student under, to explain the details of the case in complete privacy. What would you say if you could join us, to take one last trip to the dream world?"

Bristol smiled, settling back in his seat. "I'd say we need to take a trip to meet Micah Harper."

**Review, please!**


	9. Love Will Tear Us Apart

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Chapter title from the Joy Division song. Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited, especially FireLily25, who I think is all caught up now, haha.**

**This chapter is really long… But crucial to story development. It also introduces an Original Character who will play a key role in this story, and belongs completely to me: Micah Harper.**

Love Will Tear Us Apart

Wednesday, October 5, 2011: Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University: William James Hall: Arthur

As it turned out, they didn't have to go very far. Cobb and Arthur followed Bristol out of his office, the older man leaning on a cane as they made their way back down the hall. Arthur hovered nervously at Bristol's shoulder when the older man made to walk down the stairs, a move that caused Bristol to laugh heartily.

"Still a gentleman! Illegal dream antics have not ruined your generosity."

Arthur blushed, causing Cobb to smile, happy that the professor seemed to be able to lift Arthur's spirits.

They reached the second floor, with Arthur taking a step back but staying between Cobb and Bristol. Even though he highly doubted Bristol was in any danger from Cobb, Arthur's instincts told him not to trust Cobb anywhere near someone he cared even slightly for. He noticed Cobb's nose twitch at the sight, and wondered if he'd begun to pick up a pattern.

Bristol reached a study room, the door of which held the number '23' painted on its surface. He opened it without knocking.

It was a classroom, empty save for a group of students sitting and laughing at a table in the corner. Arthur watched the group, automatically reminded of his own time at the school, spending hours upon hours in these rooms, studying and experimenting, opening the PASIV and dosing up…

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," Bristol called.

The group looked up and began to talk even more loudly, and with even more enthusiasm. Arthur followed Bristol to the group, while Cobb hung in the back, uncertain. Arthur ignored him, focusing on studying the group at large in an attempt to guess which one was Micah Harper.

"What are you all laughing so loudly over?" Bristol asked.

"Nothing really," a girl, wearing a short denim skirt and knee-high boots, said. Though she kept her attention on Bristol as she spoke, her gaze wandered back to Arthur, taking in his appearance. She raised an eyebrow and cast a flirty smile in his direction. He stared back, not saying anything. "It's just studying hysterics."

"Test tomorrow?"

"Yeah, on observational learning," a boy, wearing a thick sweater and jeans, put in. Arthur gazed at him for a moment, but he had a feeling he wasn't Harper. "For Atkins."

Bristol nodded in understanding, leaning on his cane. "Ah, I see. Well, luckily for most of you, I only require one. Mr. Harper?"

One of the boys got to his feet, and Arthur's eyes latched onto him.

He was tall, slightly taller than Arthur, with bright red hair and large blue eyes. His face was covered with freckles, and like Bristol, he too wore glasses, but his were more modern, thin frames. He was dressed very casually, in jeans, sneakers and a long-sleeved shirt emblazoned with the words "Houston Dynamo."

"Yes, Professor?" He asked, confused.

"Mr. Zaleski would like to speak with you, Micah," Bristol explained. "If you could leave your study group."

Harper looked at Arthur, as if he was sizing him up. Arthur simply waited, the epitome of calm, cool and collected. After a moment, Harper shrugged, and picked up a plain black backpack and maroon Harvard sweatshirt. "Yeah, okay."

The group watched curiously as Arthur led Bristol and Harper behind him, towards Cobb. Cobb barely acknowledged Harper, instead opening the door to the hall outside and holding it open.

"Is there a place we can talk privately?" Cobb asked Bristol. The professor nodded, pulling out a set of keys to a small side study room. The group entered in silence. Bristol sank into the single chair, while Arthur leaned against the wall and Cobb stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. Harper remained near the door, looking wary.

"Micah, I'd like to introduce you to two men I'm positive you will be pleased you met," Bristol said. Arthur bit his tongue; he wasn't sure Harper would agree when this was all over. "Micah Harper, this is Dominic Cobb and his associate, my former student and graduate of the class of 2001, Arthur Zaleski."

"Wait… Arthur Zaleski?" Harper looked stunned, staring at Arthur unashamedly. "Wow. Professor Bristol's told me about you."

Arthur's eyebrows soared. "Really?" He looked at Bristol. "You failed to mention that detail."

"We all love to gossip about our favorite students," Bristol defended himself.

Harper had just finished shaking Cobb's hand, and turned to shake Arthur's with a huge smile. "It's so awesome to meet you. I can't believe it."

"I'm glad to meet you," Arthur said gently.

"Mr. Cobb and Mr. Zaleski are here to offer you a…" Bristol trailed off. Cobb jumped in.

"A work placement," he told Harper.

Harper looked pleased. "Really? That would be great! What's the job?"

"It's unlike anything you've ever encountered or heard of," Cobb said. "How much do you know about shared dreaming?"

Harper gaped at him. "Shared dreaming? Are you serious?"

"Very."

"Well, I've read about it," Harper began. "I was initially drawn to psychology because I wanted to learn about stress disorders, but I mean, I've also learned about dreaming. Part of the reason why Harvard was my number one school was because I knew they used to have one of the only shared dreaming programs in the country, until it got shut down. I was hoping it'd come back." His eyes glimmered. "Are you here to bring it back?"

"Unfortunately not," Cobb said. "But we've got something better than an academic program."

"_Better_? Like-" Harper broke off, thinking hard. Arthur spoke up.

"How old are you, Mr. Harper?"

"I'm twenty-three," Micah said. "I'm a graduate student." Arthur's heart clenched for a moment. _He's the same age as Ariadne_.

Cobb took his hands out of his pockets, setting his bag on the floor. Harper's eyes snapped to it, before flickering back to Cobb as he spoke.

"It's too difficult to explain what the job is, here," Cobb said, stressing the last word. "It's much easier to do it where the job will be taking place." He reached into the bag and pulled out the silver briefcase. Harper gasped in audible shock.

"Holy shit!" He cried. He blushed as the three older men looked at him. "I mean… Wow. That's a PASIV."

Cobb looked impressed. "You know more than you let on, Micah."

"I've seen photos of them before," Harper explained hurriedly. "Just never in real life…" He stared at the two men. "Where did you get it?"

"I bought this one in Rio a couple years ago," Cobb said airily. "They're much easier to find overseas. The U.S. is one of only a handful of countries in the world that expressly prohibits their use, even recreationally."

"Even recreationally?" Harper repeated. "So what you want me to do isn't recreational?"

Cobb's jaw clenched, while Arthur smiled to himself. The kid was smart.

"Not exactly," Cobb admitted.

Harper looked at the case for a long moment, debating inwardly. Arthur glanced at Bristol, who jumped in.

"You're safe here," the professor said. "This room is private and locked. You don't have to worry about anyone walking in. And if it helps, I'll be joining you on the other side."

"You will?"

"Absolutely," Bristol said. "It's quite something, Micah. Words cannot express it adequately."

Harper considered for another moment, staring at the case. Just as Arthur moved to check his watch, he cleared his throat.

"Okay. Show me."

Cobb nodded, placing the case on the desk. He opened it and began unwinding four separate cords, each tipped with an unopened needle. Harper watched with large eyes, following Cobb's every move as he handed them out. Upon noticing this, Arthur approached the younger man.

"Sit on the floor," Arthur instructed. Harper sat, leaning against the wall, as Arthur kneeled beside him. He carefully opened the needle, flicking away the plastic covering. "Roll up your sleeve."

Harper complied and stared as Arthur gripped his wrist. He winced as the needle slipped in, but didn't comment.

"Good," Arthur said. He sat against the desk, pulling off his suit jacket and rolling back the sleeve of his dress shirt. Harper's eyes were glued to the countless needle marks on his wrist.

"You do this a lot?"

"Not in a while," Arthur admitted. "But I used to do this at least once a week." Harper frowned but shrugged it off, as Cobb sank onto the floor under the single window.

"Ready?" He asked.

Arthur looked at Harper. The boy took a deep breath and nodded once. Arthur turned to Cobb, only to see the man nod once as they slid into unconsciousness.

"Now this is more like it," Bristol cried with aplomb. Arthur watched, smirking, as the older man dropped his cane, picking up a pace until he was running along the boardwalk. Overhead, the summer sun shimmered, sending sparkling rays of light onto the Atlantic Ocean. Arthur followed the professor, but at a relaxed pace, keeping his eyes trained on the older man and ignoring the projections that largely ignored him.

Bristol was acting like a little kid, which fit the situation tremendously well. Arthur had to hand it to Cobb; the man could design a dream. Cobb had chosen an ocean boardwalk, not unlike the ones found in Boston. It was a place Harper would be familiar with, with a breezy climate and generally peaceful atmosphere.

"This is marvelous!" Bristol cried. He stopped his running and turned, beaming, waiting for Arthur to reach him at the end of the boardwalk. Both men had changed outfits. Bristol was wearing knee-length shorts and flip flops, along with a generic Hawaiian shirt. Arthur was his usual look, but more casual, in tan pants and a dark blue button-up shirt, without a tie. He grinned at Bristol's clear and obvious joy, his auburn colored eyes hidden behind Aviator sunglasses.

Bristol leaned against the railing, staring out at the dark blue ocean, squinting in the sun. Arthur nodded at the breast pocket of his shirt, and Bristol reached into it, pulling out his own pair of sunglasses.

"Marvelous," he repeated, putting them on. "Is this your dream?"

"No. It's all Cobb's."

"Even the projections?"

Arthur chuckled. "Especially the projections." They were classic Cobb, all wearing shades of tan and loose suits, hair neat but wavy. The whole look had a classy 90's feel, which was right up Cobb's alley.

They took a long walk then, wandering around, enjoying the sights and sounds of the boardwalk. The land sloped upward in an interesting way, until they realized they'd reached a pier. It felt like hours had passed, and the people around them were dwindling in number.

Bristol looked around. "Where are Mr. Cobb and Micah?"

"Over there. Cobb will explain what's going on, and what the job is. He's better at these explanations than I am."

Bristol followed Arthur's nod. Some fifty yards away, Cobb and Harper were strolling, making their way past several food vendors.

Arthur smiled. "Harper hasn't realized he's dreaming yet."

"He doesn't remember?"

"You never remember how you wound up in a dream," Arthur reminded him. "But Cobb's in a hurry. Harper will quickly realize that he just met Cobb, and it was nighttime in October on campus, not afternoon in July on the Boston boardwalk."

"Is that not dangerous?" Bristol asked, alarmed.

Arthur shrugged. "Not especially. It'll be more of a shock to Harper than if it'd been done more slowly, but… We're running out of time."

"Why the rush?"

"Hm." Arthur frowned, leaning against the railing beside Bristol. The railing ended on Bristol's other side, a drop into the deep sea. "Well… It's complicated."

Bristol scowled. "Arthur, I know what you've been doing since you left school. You don't have to feed me that same line anymore. Besides, you're about to recruit my brightest student. Don't I deserve to know what he's getting into?"

"Harper will be fine," Arthur said. "Know that. Harper will be okay."

"And you?"

"I'm having a hard time guaranteeing that these days," Arthur admitted. "But I swear to you, Bristol; this is my last job. Until Cobb accosted me a couple days ago, I'd been retired from illegal dream sharing for a year. He brought me out of retirement as a last-ditch effort to complete a job we're starting very shortly in Los Angeles."

Bristol gaped at him. "Retired? You retired?"

"Yes."

"But why?" Bristol demanded. "You have an incredible life. A life many would kill to experience…"

Arthur smirked. "Are you among that number?"

"I wouldn't kill you, Arthur."

"Look, Isaac," Arthur said. "The things I've seen, been forced to endure, as part of this job… It's maddening. I've died thousands of times; from jumping off buildings, from being strangled, from being beaten, from being shot... My combined dreaming time probably adds up to somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five years. I'm thirty now. I've almost doubled my lifetime with it. It wears you down. It's hard."

"But the things you get in return-"

"-Are irresistible," Arthur agreed. "Yes. Most of the time, indeed. But the industry, this job… It forces you to re-evaluate your life. I haven't talked to my family in over ten years. They don't know who I am, where I am; hell, they don't even know if I'm alive. It's an incredible price to pay, and for so long, I was fine with it, because there was nothing I wanted more than to dream and really live; which is a joke, because this-" He waved his arms, indicating their present surroundings. "-This isn't living, Isaac. This is playing pretend."

Bristol scoffed. "Such cynicism…"

"Really? I guess. I've been told I sound like an old man. I _am_ an old man, Bristol. Not physically; but mentally."

"So you walked away from it all," Bristol finished. "Threw it away."

"It's been worth it."

"Yeah?" Bristol wasn't convinced. "What did you get in exchange?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but sudden movement caught his eyes. He looked beyond Bristol and spotted a woman, making her way towards them. She was wearing a pale blue dress and white sandals, her wavy brown hair flowing freely in the breeze. His eyes caught on the navy blue scarf at her throat and he swallowed tightly.

Bristol turned, following Arthur's gaze. He didn't speak as the younger man straightened, walking past Bristol to approach the woman.

She didn't speak; she simply stared at him, smiling in that ridiculously lovely and warm way that never failed to make Arthur melt. He tried to mimic her smile, cocking his head to the side as he strolled to her. They stopped short, leaving about a foot of space in between them.

Arthur could feel Bristol's stare on his back, but he ignored it, simply drinking in his projection of Ariadne. She seemed to be doing the same, and the thought warmed him.

She reached up, placing a small hand on his cheek. "There you are."

"Arthur…?" Bristol sounded nervous.

"I've missed you," she whispered, her chocolate eyes dark. "You're so far away…"

Arthur grinned, leaning into her hand. He reached out his and took her other hand, winding their fingers together. "I know. It won't be for much longer, Ari."

"Far too long," she whispered, stepping closer. Arthur closed his eyes, inhaling her familiar lavender scent. He'd missed her so much, more than he'd realized until this moment, he just wanted to stay in this moment forever…

Reality came crashing down. The die in his pocket felt suddenly heavy. "You're not real," he murmured, forcing his eyes to open.

She was standing right in front of him, her forehead brushing his lips. She turned her head, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him, lifting herself to her full height. "Aren't I?" She breathed. Her lips sank onto his, and he was lost.

She was bliss, she was wonderful, she was everything he'd ever wanted and could ever expect to need… His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, clutching at her, dragging her closer.

"Hmm…" She sighed deeply and leaned back slightly, falling onto her feet again. Arthur let her go hesitantly, sliding his hands to a more respectable place on her waist. Her eyes were open and clear, and her tongue trailed lightly over her lips for a moment as she gazed at Arthur.

"You know," she said softly.

He felt hazy, asleep in a dream… She'd taken over his control… "Know what?"

"What it is…" She kissed him again, trailing her tongue over his bottom lip. He tried to bring her closer again, but she leaned back once more. "To be a lover…"

"Yes…" He whispered, nodding against her face.

"To be half of a whole…" He remembered a conversation he'd had with her, after the job, when she finally spilled the beans on everything that had happened, what Mal had said to her…She ran her lips along his cheek, moving along to his ear. He sighed…

"Ariadne…"

When she spoke again, her lips at his ear, her voice was fast and clipped, and suddenly not her. "But Arthur, even if you are half of a whole, you will need to learn to let go."

His eyes snapped open. He caught an image of her eyes, frozen chocolate, foreign to him, before she pushed him, forcing him over the edge of the boardwalk, the place where the railing was broken. He immediately let go of her, his automatic reflex reaction as he tipped backward. He fell freely and only felt the water cover him for a moment before he vanished entirely.

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he almost fell over, his legs still flailing from the accidental kick. He was gasping, as if he'd really been pushed over a ledge and fallen to his death in a cold sea. His breath hitched and caught; he just couldn't get enough air.

Arthur stumbled to his feet, gripping the desk for support, the needle ripped from his wrist. He scrambled for the window, leaning over Cobb's slumbering figure to shove it open. He inhaled long deep breaths of cold nighttime air.

_Just a dream_, he reminded himself. _It was just a dream. She didn't kill you_.

Even as he thought it, his hand was at his pocket, the die in his palm. He tossed it on the floor; five white dots glinted up at him. He grabbed it and threw it again, achieving the same result. And again. And again.

A sudden gasping noise almost made him fall over again. He dove forward, catching Bristol before the older man could slide out of his chair.

"Ack!" Bristol cried, in a most undignified way.

"Hey, hey," Arthur said gently, clutching the professor's shoulders. "You're okay. You're awake, you're not dreaming anymore."

Bristol nodded, breathing hard still. Arthur gave him another moment before squeezing his shoulders and taking a step back. He turned back to the window, studying the light rain falling under the streetlights.

"Did she kill you too?" He asked.

"No," Bristol said. Arthur could feel the professor's eyes on his back, but he didn't look at him. "But your fall off the pier caught the attention of the other projections. They mobbed me, but luckily, one had a gun." He paused and added, "That's quite the girl you have, Arthur."

Arthur swallowed audibly. "She's not like that in real life."

"I believe you. I find it hard to believe you'd still be with a woman who murdered you on a regular occasion."

That was enough to make Arthur turn, glaring at the older man. "You don't know what you're talking about. Be serious, Isaac."

"Don't I?" Bristol challenged. "I was head of the dream sharing program here at Harvard, after all. Has she been haunting you? How strange."

"That's never happened before," Arthur admitted.

"Strange," Bristol repeated. "We used to have the occasional shade appear when we did shared dreaming here, but never one as cunning and emotionally changing as her. Tell me: who is she?"

Arthur leaned against the wall, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. His heart was still beating at a faster pace than normal, but the shock of Ariadne killing him was starting to wear off. "Her name is Ariadne."

"Is she your wife?"

Arthur stared at the man. "What makes you say that?"

Bristol shrugged. "You have to have a close connection to turn someone into your own shade. Plus, the way you looked at her, like she was the center of the universe, or heaven personified." He shrugged again, ignoring Arthur's stunned expression. "Are you still together?"

"Yes."

"I see," Bristol said softly. He leaned forward, and nodded at the still-slumbering forms of Cobb and Harper, whom Arthur had all but forgotten about. "How much longer will they be under?"

Arthur shrugged. "Depends on how far away from us they were. But a couple minutes; that's when the clock runs out, anyway."

Bristol nodded again, tapping his fingers lightly against his pants. Arthur watched in silence. He was waiting for Bristol's inevitable question, an interrogation that was definitely on its way.

"She is the reason you retired."

Arthur nodded once. "Yes."

"The reason you cannot guarantee your safety on this job."

"Yes."

"The reason you are doing the job in the first place."

"Yes."

Bristol sighed, running a hand over his jaw. "Well. You're in a bit of a pickle, Arthur. Why did your projection of her push you off a pier?"

"I don't know," Arthur murmured. "It…" He trailed off, his mind in a horror-induced flurry.

All those memories, of Cobb walking with a dark-haired woman trailing behind… Her dark eyes, staring into his soul, hers oddly blank and lifeless… The countless times she'd raised a gun, sent a train towards them… The time he was shot by her in the kneecap, exploding pain and—

Was Ariadne haunting him like Mal had haunted Cobb? But why? She was still alive, after all.

_Was she_?

Arthur's hand flew to his phone and he pulled it out of his pocket, heart hammering again. Bristol stared as Arthur glanced at the time, mentally calculating the time difference. He soon established that she would've landed in Nairobi very recently, and was probably on the train to Mombasa. He dialed her number, and held the phone up to his ear.

It stuttered, and then… _Ring… Ring…_

"… Hello?"

It was her, her voice like a wind chime. She sounded utterly exhausted; it was early morning in Kenya. But Arthur smiled. "It's me."

"Arthur?" He heard movement, imagined her straightening, trying to get her bearings. He'd probably awoken her up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, sensing her anxiety and halting it. "No, I just… I just wanted to check in. How's Kenya?"

"Dark," Ariadne said. Arthur chuckled.

"Sorry about waking you up."

"Don't be," she breathed. "I thought about calling, but Edward said you and Cobb were probably busy… Have you found someone yet?"

Eames must've filled her in on the reason Cobb and Arthur were in Massachusetts. Arthur found himself nodding into the phone, even though she couldn't see him.

"I think so." He glanced at Harper, who was still passed out against the wall. "Cobb's with him now."

"You didn't go into the dream?"

Arthur's lip twitched. "No. I'm with an old professor of mine." Bristol smirked, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully.

"That's nice," Ariadne murmured. He could hear her yawn.

"I'd better let you go before you pass out," Arthur said softly. "I just wanted to say hello."

"Which you're more than welcome to," Ariadne said. "I'll talk to you later, then. I love you."

Arthur smiled to himself, looking back out the window again to hide his expression from Bristol's prying eyes. "And I love you. I'll see you in a couple days."

"Mm-hmm. Stay safe."

"Only if you promise to do the same."

"Always," she said. "Goodbye, Arthur."

"Bye, Ari."

He hung up, returning his phone to his pocket and frowning out the window some more. He remained like that, utterly still, until Bristol spoke again.

"When all this is over," the professor called, humor in his voice. "I'd like to meet her, this mysterious lady who has stolen my favorite student's heart."

Arthur smirked, turning around again. "I'm sure she'd love to meet you."

"Such a lovely name. Ariadne; is it Greek?"

"Her mother is a mythology and classics professor," Arthur supplied. "She's actually French-Canadian. She's from Montreal."

"Have you met her family?" Bristol wondered.

"No," Arthur admitted. "And she hasn't met mine. I highly doubt she ever will."

Bristol sighed deeply, straightening in his chair and rubbing his eyes with his hands. Arthur frowned, confused by Bristol's sudden change in demeanor.

"Arthur," Bristol said. "Did you know your brother walked into my office four days after you graduated?"

All the air seemed to have vacated the room. Arthur was frozen, the epitome of an ice sculpture. His hands gripped the windowsill, as he suddenly felt he needed the support. Bristol's words cut him deeply, as waves of shock rolled over him.

"He did?" He breathed.

"I thought it was you at first," Bristol said. "I can never quite remember just how much 'identical' there is in 'identical twins.' But he was much angrier and frustrated than I'd ever seen you…He carried himself differently too, very fidgety and acting like his age, not the older soul you've always been. Anyway, he barreled into my office and demanded to know where the—and I quote—_fuck_, his brother was."

Arthur took a long breath. "What did you say?"

"The truth. I had no idea. He stared me down for a moment before turning and leaving without another word."

"He didn't say anything else?" Arthur demanded.

"No, he did not. I didn't even catch the boy's name."

Arthur swallowed. "Adam. His name is Adam."

Bristol beamed. "Adam and Arthur Zaleski. What an adorable combination. Who's older?"

"He is. By about ten minutes."

"That's interesting," Bristol said thoughtfully. "I take it you haven't spoken to him in…"

"Ten years," Arthur said quietly.

"Well," Bristol huffed. "If you do end up retiring after all this… I think your first stop should be your mother's house."

Before Arthur could respond, there was movement on the other side of the room. Both Cobb and Harper were stirring. Arthur darted around the desk, kneeling down beside Harper, whose eyes were blinking open.

"Relax," he hissed, as Harper made to move. He slid the needle out, checking the small prick left behind before nodding. "Okay. You're fine."

"That was _awesome_," Harper gasped. His eyes swiveled from Arthur to Cobb, who was on his feet. Cobb let his top spin for a moment until it crashed; he pocketed it swiftly, facing Harper again. He smiled widely.

"So…"

"_Hell yeah_," Harper exclaimed. "I am _so_ in."

Arthur frowned. "Cobb did tell you what exactly the job is…"

Harper nodded furiously. "Yeah, he did, and I appreciate the clarifications, especially the part about not sugarcoating anything. But… this is so unique, and such a great experience. I can't say no."

"Spoken like a true student of mine," Bristol said in approval. He strolled over to Harper, and helped the younger man up. The two began talking, Harper's arms flailing as he described the dream.

Cobb looked up as Arthur approached him, helping the older man pack up the PASIV.

"Why did you wake up early?" He asked.

"Bristol got a little too excited. He fell off a pier."

Cobb looked surprised. "Really? That surprises me."

Arthur didn't say anything as he returned the PASIV to Cobb. All he knew was that he couldn't tell Cobb that Ariadne had killed him. Cobb would freak out and force Arthur to spend every hour of every day trying to figure out what was going on.

_I miss her, that's all_, Arthur told himself. He could hope that was true, and that everything would be normal again when Ariadne and Eames returned from Africa.

Across the room, Cobb had just finished telling Harper to go pack clothes and whatever else he would need for the job in Los Angeles. They shook hands, Bristol beaming, Harper beside himself with excitement, and Cobb, already filled with regret.

**Review, please!**


	10. Daydreamer

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Chapter title from the song by Adele. It doesn't fit the scene really well, but it's lovely and kind of ironic…**

**Fast update because I feel buoyed by the positive reviews coming this way! Thank you! If there is ever a moment where you question the motivation/reasoning of a character, please hold tight, for it will be explained later. Lack of motivation is my pet peeve, so I try to explain everything.**

**Makena is my own Original Character. I've never been to Mombasa, so I did my best.**

Daydreamer

Thursday, October 6, 2011: Mombasa, Kenya: Yusuf's Pharmacy: Ariadne

Ariadne couldn't help but yawn widely as she moved through the busy train station. Ahead of her, Eames glanced around, smirking as he caught the architect's poor attempts at covering up her yawn. She blushed furiously, dropping her hand and scowling.

"Alright there, love?" Eames called. Even though he was just a foot away from her, she could barely hear him.

Mombasa was crazy, every bit as loud and chaotic as Arthur had warned her. She'd thought the shopping districts of Paris were insane enough; Mombasa was entirely different. She'd never seen so many people in her life, people yelling at each other in foreign languages she couldn't understand, the whistles of dozens of trains, the barking and baaing of various farm animals and domestic pets.

But there was a flip side to Mombasa.

There was just so much _color_. Dozens and dozens of differently colored clothes moved past her face, dresses in bright colors, some she wasn't even sure she'd ever seen before. She couldn't help but gawk at them, even as she tried to focus on stepping directly behind Eames.

They finally stepped out of the train station, emerging into blinding sunlight, automatically surrounded by even more people.

"Okay," Eames said, turning to face Ariadne. His gray eyes were hidden behind thick black sunglasses, his light shirt rolled to his elbows, expression grave. "What has Arthur told you about Mombasa?"

Ariadne swallowed. "To stick with you, keep my eyes open and trust my instincts."

Eames nodded in approval. "Good. He's right. Now, I value my life, so I won't be leaving you for a moment, what with the wrath of Arthur and all." Ariadne rolled her eyes as Eames continued. "So let me add in my own direction: listen to me at all times. If I tell you to run, run. If I tell you to hide, hide. If I do any of these things, put yourself on the next train back to Nairobi. It's slightly safer there."

"Any specific place in Nairobi I should wait for you?" Ariadne asked. Before she'd finished speaking, Eames had fished a single sheet of paper from his pocket.

"My favorite hotel," he told her. "Room 17. At the front desk, ask for Mrs. Mawani. She'll take care of you until I can get there."

Ariadne nodded, tucking the paper into the pocket of her jeans. "Edward, I'm impressed."

"Thank you," he chuckled. He grew serious though, rifling again in his bag. "There's actually one more thing. I'm a bit surprised Arthur didn't think of this, though I suppose he had other things on his mind…" Before she could ask, he'd pulled out a large square of fabric, about a meter by a meter. It was a deep purple in several different shades, patterned with purple leaves and other designs. Ariadne stood still as Eames carefully wrapped it around her shoulders.

The fabric settled over her head, brushing her bare arms and she had to ask: "What's this?"

"It's called a kanga," Eames explained. As he spoke, he pulled another from his bag; this one was a bright orange, patterned with more swirls and lines. "Wrap this around your waist. Kanga is traditional dress for Swahili women here in Mombasa. Now, no one in their right mind would ever believe you were Swahili, but… We already stick out enough as it is, from our skin color to your bare legs, however lovely they may be."

Ariadne blushed, tying the orange cloth around her waist, hiding the aforementioned legs. "Where did you get these?"

"I have a few," Eames said distantly. "Bought during various trips here. They make nice souvenirs. Women are always impressed to hear I've been to Africa."

"They're really pretty," Ariadne said, studying the fabric around her torso. She noticed a trail of words along the side, in a language she couldn't read. "What's it say?"

Eames shrugged. "No idea. I just liked the color. Kanga is becoming on you, my dear." He gave her a last smile, before putting an arm around her and lightly pulling her to a line of taxis. "Let's get out of here."

Ariadne got to experience more of Mombasa during the speedy taxi ride through the city. There were even more people, crowding around stalls stuffed with merchandise and foods of all kinds. Her first reaction of anxiety was quickly fading; she was becoming more comfortable, even as the taxi completed tons of stunning maneuvers around the streets, darting past dozens upon dozens of people.

She could understand why Eames had given her the kanga. The vast majority of women (with a few rare exceptions) were almost all covered up. She felt grateful for the orange skirt around her legs.

Eames, sitting beside her, suddenly straightened. He tapped his knuckles against the clear divider between their seat and the driver. The taxi stopped. Eames whipped out a small roll of currency, passing several notes to the driver before hopping out, holding the door for Ariadne. She slid out, clutching her bag to her chest.

The taxi had stopped in a smaller side street. There were far less people here, and they were all men. Ariadne felt herself step closer to Eames, as she studied them. Most were staring at her, but not in a way that made her anxious; more in a curious nature, as they pondered who she was and what she was doing here.

She looked ahead of her, at the derelict building before them. There were only a handful of windows, nearly all either blacked out or blocked from the street by a sheet.

"Is this…"

"Yusuf's pharmacy," Eames confirmed. "Shifty looking, isn't it?"

"I'll say," she murmured. "No wonder he doesn't make much."

Eames chuckled. "Trust me, love, that's not the only reason." Before she could ask, Eames had walked forward and pushed open the door. She followed without hesitation.

The inside was a stark contrast to the outside. Ariadne gaped at the walls, rows and rows of glass vials in dozens of different colors. Many were dusty, but some looked like they'd been moved yesterday. As she turned in a small circle, she heard a soft cough.

"Well, well."

She whipped her head around at the voice. Eames, beside her, remained calm, standing still with his hands in his pockets. He smiled.

"Hello, Yusuf."

The chemist had appeared from behind a curtain, frozen behind his counter in shock. To Ariadne, he looked exactly the same, though his clothes were less tattered. A pair of glasses rested on his nose, and his brown eyes were large. After a moment's pause though, he grinned, darting out past the desk.

"I can't believe my eyes," he commented, wringing Eames' hand with enthusiasm. "Mr. Eames. You're here."

"Indeed," Eames said. Yusuf turned to Ariadne, taking her hand lightly in his.

"And Miss Ariadne," he murmured in approval. "You look like you belong here."

She smiled at the compliment. "It's nice to see you again, Yusuf."

"And I say the same to you," he replied. He stepped back, studying the two foreigners with appraising eyes. "What brings you all the way to Mombasa? Not for a romantic holiday, I assume?"

Ariadne blushed, while Eames chuckled. "Unfortunately not. We're here to offer you a job, Yusuf."

Yusuf looked pleased. "I was hoping you would say that. Come with me."

They followed him without another word, back through the curtain and down a dark tunnel. Eames walked behind Ariadne, who followed Yusuf. She could hear the forger's calm breathing, even while hers came slowly. The presence of Yusuf wasn't exactly calming her nerves, as the sunlight faded, replaced by artificial lamps.

Yusuf pushed open a new door, smiling at Ariadne in the shadows. "Welcome to my dreamland, Ariadne."

Ariadne's jaw dropped as she took in the scene. There were rows upon rows of homemade cots, each filled with a slumbering man. Though this might've been passed off as semi-normal, what wasn't were the thick stands of tubing trailing from each man's wrist to a single case at the center of the room.

"They're dreaming?" She gasped. "All at once?"

"You shouldn't be so surprised, love," Eames commented. He stood over one of the figures, studying the sleeping man with a casual expression. "You've experienced Yusuf's magical elixir yourself before."

Ariadne walked slowly, scanning the figures. "So many…"

"All deeply dreaming."

The new voice caused both Ariadne and Eames to spin around. A woman, around Yusuf's age, was framed in a different doorway. Like Ariadne, she was wearing brightly colored cloth, though hers was obviously more expensive. She had deep brown eyes and warm skin, and in her hands, she held a tray filled with vials. She set down the tray as Yusuf walked to her, putting a hand on her lower back.

"Edward, Ariadne," he said. "This is my wife, Makena. Makena, these are two of the colleagues I told you about, from that job I did last year, Mr. Eames and Miss Ariadne."

Makena smiled shyly, nodding once. "Hello."

"It's lovely to meet you," Eames said warmly, raising a hand in greeting. Ariadne murmured her own appreciation, gathering from Eames it might not be proper to approach her directly.

"Makena is also my assistant," Yusuf explained. "She helps me with the compounds."

"You never told us anything about a wife, Yusuf," Eames commented.

Yusuf shrugged. "You never asked. It didn't seem necessary at the time."

Ariadne had to give him that. Makena moved away from Yusuf, sitting beside one of the men on the cots and running her hands along his face. She closed her eyes in concentration, checking his pulse. Ariadne stared at her, bewitched, until Yusuf spoke again.

"Tell me about this job."

Eames took the question. "Do you remember Browning?"

Yusuf nodded, confused. "Yes. You took on his appearance."

"Correct," Eames confirmed. "Well, Browning has become a bit… Distressed, at his godson's plans to break apart the energy company. He has enlisted Cobb to return to Mr. Fischer's subconscious and reverse the inception."

Yusuf stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"Reverse inception. Ever heard of it?"

"No," Yusuf said incredulously. "And neither has anyone else. It doesn't exist."

"I agree," Eames said. "But Cobb does not. He's going to try anyway. He and Arthur are currently stateside, meeting with Browning to form a plan."

"And you two are also part of this?" Yusuf gathered.

"We're here to recruit you."

Yusuf nodded, running a hand over his black beard. "I see. What's in it for me?"

"This."

Eames reached into his bag and began to dump pile upon pile of bank notes on an empty table. Yusuf and Ariadne stared at it. Makena even looked up from her work to watch in interest.

Eames finished with a flourish, throwing a last stack on the table. "124 million, 204 thousand and 710 Kenyan shillings. Or, roughly: 1.5 million U.S. dollars."

Yusuf strode to Eames, running his hands over the money in shock. "Is this real? I have a hard time believing it, considering the source."

"It's very real," Eames said. "Test it every way you can. I'm sure you have some sort of compound here that can verify real money."

"Hm." Yusuf studied the money. "This is more than I made on the original job."

"That's the point. Cobb wants your services, Yusuf."

"I believe that," Yusuf said quickly. He looked to the side, where Makena remained, stunned. They locked eyes and Yusuf cleared his throat. She got to her feet, returning to her side room.

Yusuf looked at Eames and Ariadne. "Please give me a moment to discuss this with my wife."

Eames nodded. "Good. But we will be leaving in half an hour, no matter your answer." Yusuf nodded, moving after Makena.

Ariadne hurried to Eames, staring down at the money. "Where did you get _this?_"

"After we landed in Nairobi, do you remember what we did?"

"I got us breakfast," Ariadne said. "And you…" She scowled. "I'm positive you didn't use the restroom."

"I'm not Cobb's only contact in Kenya," Eames said mysteriously. "I just had to pick up the money."

"So it's all Cobb's?"

Eames smirked, looking beyond her shoulder. She turned; Yusuf and Makena had returned. "Not anymore," Eames hissed to Ariadne.

Yusuf's expression said it all. He looked serious, but there was no denying the trace of excitement. Ariadne felt it had less to do with the thrill of the job, and more to do with the money.

"I'm in," he said.

Eames grinned. "That's it? No questions?"

Yusuf chuckled. "I'd rather not know the details. I already assume I will be going under, no?"

"Most likely," Eames confirmed.

Yusuf sighed. "Very well. Half an hour, you said?"

"Yep. Pack like you did for the Fischer job; you'll be gone just as long."

"Then there's no time to waste." Yusuf looked at Makena. She nodded and began to move, darting to the cabinets around the room and pulling out vials. Yusuf disappeared back down the tunnel, undoubtedly to pack whatever else he would need. Eames looked at Ariadne once before following the chemist down the hallway.

Ariadne found herself approaching Makena. "Do you need any help?"

The older woman's eyes snapped up. "If you don't mind." Ariadne was impressed by how understandable her English was, despite her thick accent.

The two women worked quietly together, Ariadne organizing the bottles as dictated by Makena, into heavy-duty packages for shipping. There was no way they would be able to bring them on the airplane. Makena didn't say anything else, but moved around the room methodically.

Ariadne couldn't stand the silence. "How long have you and Yusuf been married?"

Makena gave her a look; it was calm and neutral, but with a slight tinge of surprise. "Twenty years."

"Wow," Ariadne murmured. "I… Sorry. Yusuf just never mentioned he had a wife, that's all."

"He's private," Makena said in that lilting accent. "That is the way we live here. Privately."

Ariadne swallowed. "I'm sorry to intrude."

"No, no. You just wonder how I do it."

"I'm… Come again?"

Makena actually smiled, one that warmed her face and made her years younger. "You wonder how I can so calmly let him go, without making a fight. It is not always the case with Western women, is it not?"

Ariadne blinked. "Um…No, I guess it isn't."

"He has to work," Makena said softly. "So he leaves. And I let him. I don't intrude."

_So this is culture shock_, Ariadne thought to herself. "That's incredible. I mean, you don't even know how long he'll be gone…"

"It does not matter," Makena said. "Because he will come back. He always does."

"I wish I could share your faith," Ariadne said before she could stop herself. She realized what she'd said and blushed furiously.

Makena smiled sadly. "I think you do."

That was certainly not the response Ariadne had been expecting. "Why do you say that?"

"Because of what your kanga says," Makena explained. She reached out, pointing one long, narrow finger at the fringe of the kanga Ariadne wore around her torso. Ariadne pulled it up, recognizing the phrase she'd noticed earlier, the one Eames had been unable to translate.

"Do you know what this says?" She asked Makena.

The Swahili woman nodded. "Yes. It's a common _jina_; name of the kanga. A message."

"A message? What is it?"

"_Mkipendana mambo huwa sawa_," Makena said fluidly and without hesitation, the words rolling off her tongue like the way Arthur spoke French. At Ariadne's blank look, she lowered her voice to whisper, "It means, '_Everything is all right if you love each other_.'"

Ariadne's eyes closed. She gripped the fringe of the kanga again, wondering if Eames had been lying, if he'd chosen this particular cloth on purpose. The words rang true, a wish Ariadne desperately wanted to see realized.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Keep faith, young one," Makena said softly. "He will return, but only if you learn to let him go first."

Ariadne could not make head nor tail of Makena's logic. _Paradox_. She was saved by vocalizing her confusion by footsteps, and the return of Eames and Yusuf. Both men paused in the doorway, obviously surprised by the closeness of Makena and Ariadne. Ariadne blushed more, and took a quick step back.

"Is it ready?" Yusuf asked, breaking the moment. Makena nodded, joining her husband. She simply stared at him for a long moment.

Eames coughed. Ariadne scurried to his side, and the two walked back down the tunnel to the main part of the pharmacy, giving the couple some privacy.

"What were you and Mrs. Yusuf talking about?" Eames asked.

Ariadne opened her mouth to explain, but paused, reconsidering. Makena's words didn't even make sense to her; how would they sound to Eames?

To Arthur?

She swallowed, shaking her head. "Nothing really. Just about those dreamers."

"It's mad, isn't it?"

"Very," Ariadne whispered. Very mad indeed.

**Friends, friends, friends…! Key players are introduced, save for Browning, who makes his debut chapter 15. Review, please!**


	11. Mad World

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Chapter title from… Whatever version you desire. I prefer the most well-known version, Gary Jules'. Second song chapter title from "Donnie Darko"? Hm… But when you listen to the lyrics, really, what song could be better for this story aside from the story title song?**

**And continuous thanks for the favorites/reviews. Your generosity knows no bounds, friends. It gives me hope.**

**The angst really shows up this chapter. It's dialogue heavy, but a major reality check as to what is at stake and the life behind the glamour of dreamshare. **

Mad World

Thursday, October 6, 2011: Los Angeles, California: LAX/The Alamo Restaurant: Arthur

Arthur couldn't help but smirk at Harper, as he walked beside the student through LAX. Ahead of them walked Cobb, who kept an imposing stance, his suit pressed and immaculate, hair straightened. Cobb was all-business, all seriousness, meaning that Harper was very welcome comic relief for Arthur.

It was just the kid's expression that was causing Arthur so much amusement. He kept looking around, eyes wide, as he studied the architecture of the airport. LAX wasn't particularly nice, or pretty, at least in Arthur's opinion; which wasn't something to be ignored or dismissed, as Arthur had been to more than his fair share of airports. But Harper seemed to be drinking in every moment, his backpack thudding against his skinny back while his suitcase squeaked.

While Cobb and Arthur were dressed in their best (always true for Arthur) Harper was exemplifying the typical college student. He was wearing a pair of jeans, Vans sneakers and a Harvard sweatshirt. His blue eyes were the size of golf balls, threatening to overtake his glasses.

"See anything you like?" Arthur asked.

Harper snapped his gaze to Arthur's, blushing in embarrassment. "Sorry," he said. "I just… I've never been to California before."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I see. Well, the rest of it's a hell of a lot better than LAX."

"Yeah?" Harper looked pleased, turning his head to focus on Cobb's back. "Excellent."

Cobb led them out of the terminal, walking through the doors and emerging into bright sunlight. Arthur was reminded of the last time he'd walked out of the Arrivals terminal, a year earlier, after flying in from Sydney…

"Okay," Cobb murmured. "I'm going to meet with Browning."

"What?" Arthur asked, shocked. "I thought that was tonight."

Cobb waved a hand dismissively. "Change of plans. I missed Eames' text before we got on the flight; Yusuf has agreed."

Arthur nodded. "So…"

"They're on a plane to London as we speak," Cobb said. "From there, they'll catch a plane to LAX. They'll get in later tonight."

Arthur's heart stuttered for a moment before he regained his composure. _Thank God_. "That doesn't explain why you're moving up the meeting…"

"The sooner I get the details from Browning, the sooner we can plan," Cobb said. "I'd like to start tonight, if possible, which it will be with the rest of the team here."

"Okay," Arthur said, nodding.

Cobb turned to Harper, who'd been watching the exchange in silence. "We're going to the hotel, and then you will go with Arthur to help him find us a place to work."

"Alright," Harper said amicably. Cobb moved to hail a cab, a spacious yellow van. "Where are we staying?" Harper asked Arthur.

"The Kyoto Grand," Arthur said, hurrying to the van Cobb had attained. He tossed his bag in the back, reaching for Harper's and doing the same. Harper handed him his backpack, a stunned expression on his face.

"That sounds-"

"Don't worry about the money," Arthur said swiftly, ushering the student into the backseat and sliding in with him. Cobb had already told the driver their destination. "Cobb will pay for everything."

Harper looked giddy. He looked out the window with an expression filled with excitement and exhilaration. Arthur shot a look at Cobb, before reaching into his jacket for his phone and turning it back on, something he'd neglected to do after the plane had landed.

He had a single text, from Ariadne: _Yusuf is in. Mombasa was interesting. Flying to London. Love you._

Cobb noticed Arthur's soft smile. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Arthur muttered, pocketing the phone, aware of Harper's eyes on his back. "Looks like everything went well in Mombasa."

Cobb coughed awkwardly. "Yes, well…" Arthur's fist clenched, recognizing why Cobb felt awkward. It was only thanks to Cobb's crafty lying to Cobol that the company still didn't know where Arthur was, or who Ariadne was. From the backseat, Harper looked confused, but didn't say anything.

The Kyoto Grand was just as regal and fancy as Arthur had expected. The three men exited the van, with Harper openly gaping at the massive building, the bubbling fountains and palm trees. The lobby was immaculate, all expensive quartz and granite, an ornate chandelier dangling from the ceiling. Arthur followed Cobb to the front desk, while Harper milled in the lobby, studying the expensive paintings.

"Mr. Miles Charles, I'm checking in," Cobb told the attendant. The attendant nodded, typing furiously into a computer.

"Five of our Grand Suites?" She checked. There was an odd pause, where the two looked at each other. Cobb nodded, passing over his credit card.

Arthur leaned against the counter, his back to the attendant. "Charles? Do you never pick something different?"

"First thing I thought of, I made these two days ago," Cobb hissed in response. Arthur smirked to himself. Across the lobby, Harper had settled for looking awkward, extremely out of place in his current outfit.

Checked in, the three men got onto an elevator. Cobb gave Harper a key and Arthur, two.

"Micah, you're on my floor," he said. "I'm Suite A, you're B." Harper nodded as Cobb turned to Arthur. "You and Ariadne are a floor above us, Suite A. Yusuf and Eames are in rooms on the floor above you." At Arthur's raised eyebrows, he added, "I thought that was for the best."

"I appreciate the gesture, Cobb." Arthur sighed, and turned to Harper. "You have ten minutes to freshen up, and then come meet me in the lobby."

"Where are we going first?"

"First?" Arthur repeated. "I was thinking we'd get lunch."

Cobb and Harper got off on the tenth floor, leaving Arthur alone to ride up to the eleventh.

The Grand Suite was impressive, even by Arthur's standards. He wandered through the various rooms, past elegant futons and yet more Asian artwork. He didn't pay much attention to it though, leaving his bag in the master bedroom and moving to the safe in the closet. He placed in it his safety money, along with a couple fake passports and IDs.

Satisfied with the rest of the rooms, Arthur glanced at his watch. It was time to meet Harper. Picking up the room keys again, he walked past a mirror and paused, returning to it and looking at his reflection.

He looked tired, though that was expected. Though his suit was perfect and clean, the rest of him wasn't. It wasn't for lack of personal hygiene; he'd showered and shaved before leaving his hotel room in Boston. No, it had more to do with the look on his face. His eyes were dark and lidded, his skin pale. He was the face of fear and anxiety.

_Keep it together_, he reminded himself, staring at the haunted man in the mirror. He sighed, checked his watch again and exited the room.

To his surprise, Harper had beaten him to the lobby. Arthur was grateful he'd taken off his Harvard sweatshirt and had replaced it with a nondescript forest green jacket. The sweatshirt just made it harder to take him seriously.

Arthur strolled over. "Ready?" The boy jumped, nodding, and followed Arthur out of the hotel. He hailed a cab.

"Where are we going?" Harper asked.

"Wait and see," Arthur replied smoothly. He turned to the driver and recited an address, before turning back to Harper. "You might as well enjoy the ride, considering you've never been to California before. I'd even guess this is as far West as you've ever been, then."

Harper nodded. "Yeah…"

The ride was quiet, the car easily breezing through the insane Los Angeles traffic. Arthur was aware of Harper glancing over at him every now and then but largely ignored it. He didn't want to discuss anything until they were out and away from such a quiet venue.

After ten minutes, the car reached an elegant restaurant in Malibu. Arthur tossed the fare at the driver and hopped out of the car, waiting patiently for Harper to scramble up beside him. The younger man gawked at The Alamo Restaurant like it was a five-star place in Manhattan. Arthur chuckled to himself.

"It's not _that_ impressive."

"Are you kidding?" Harper asked incredulously. "You're talking to a graduate student at an Ivy League school. I live off of cafeteria food and Ramen noodles."

"I see your point," Arthur conceded. "Come on then."

The restaurant was just as nice inside. Arthur and Harper followed the waiter through the (mostly sparse) place, where they were seated at a table near the long row of windows that made up the back of the place. It looked out over the Californian coast, the beach aglow with warm afternoon sunlight and crowded with tourists and surfers.

Harper's smile was wide as he took it in. "You're right. It's gorgeous."

"It's alright," Arthur agreed, tearing his eyes away from it. Their waiter appeared, and Arthur ordered water while Harper opted for coke. Once the waiter had left, Harper unzipped his jacket, revealing a white t-shirt with an odd splattered design on it.

Arthur smirked at it. "Rorschach, huh?"

Harper glanced down and promptly blushed. "Um, yeah. A friend gave it to me after I got my bachelor's degree. He thought it was funny."

"It is," Arthur said. "Why was it you got into psychology again, Mr. Harper?"

"Micah."

Arthur paused. "Sorry?"

Harper blushed. "Um, call me Micah, please. It's just kind of weird for someone who's not my professor but is still older than me calling me Mr. Harper… Especially since everyone around you calls you Arthur and not Mr. Zaleski."

"I'd like to keep it that way," Arthur said. "Please just call me Arthur, Micah."

"Cool."

Arthur pressed on. "But I am curious as to why you went into the field. I recall you saying something about disorders…?"

"That's right," Micah confirmed. "I, uh… Well. I knew a guy who went into the army. He deployed to Afghanistan for a whole year. And when he came back, he was kinda… Different. Shell-shocked. But it was more than that; he started freaking out whenever he heard a car backfire, and he couldn't go to concerts or shows because of the lights…"

Arthur nodded. "PTSD."

"Exactly. I did some freelance research in my spare time, trying to figure it out… And I read about how the government has only recently been putting money into researching it. I realized I had to do something; I couldn't just stand by and watch these men who'd given everything to the country fall apart like that."

"That's great," Arthur said warmly. "Out of curiosity: who was this guy?"

Micah frowned, and Arthur remained still as he studied the way the boy's face shut down.

"Micah," he pressed. "What was his name?"

"I…" Micah looked at Arthur, hesitantly. "I'd really rather not talk about that."

Their waiter appeared again to take their order and also deposit their drinks. Arthur kept his voice impassive as he ordered a BLT, while Micah looked grateful for the distraction as he asked for a hamburger. As soon as the waiter walked away though, Arthur nudged his water glass aside, putting his arms on the table and leaning forward.

"Micah," he said softly. "There's something you need to know if you're going to do this job."

Micah looked nervous. "What's that?"

"That _I _know everything."

If possible, Micah's nervous expression increased. It was clear to Arthur that the younger man was regretting agreeing to come with Arthur to lunch, even if it was free and at a nice restaurant.

"You don't hold back," he muttered.

Arthur smiled. "No, I don't, and that's something you can always expect from me: I'll be completely honest, and I won't try to sugarcoat anything."

"I guess that's for the best. But, I mean…" Micah smiled hesitantly. "I mean, if you really know everything… Why are you asking me?"

"His name was Seth Erickson," Arthur said softly, swirling his water as he spoke. "He was three years older than you, but you were best friends growing up. You were practically brothers, especially since you lived next door to each other. After he graduated high school, Seth enlisted. He was shipped out within a year, returning when he was twenty and you were seventeen. He developed PTSD, and he hung himself a year later, at just twenty-one years old, while you were studying for your undergraduate degree at Cornell."

Micah's mouth had fallen open in shock. "How do you-"

"Micah Kendall Harper," Arthur said, speaking quickly now and staring Micah straight in the eye. "Born on August 17th, 1988, to Moses and Virginia Harper of Houston, Texas. You have a younger brother, Benjamin, born in 1991, and a younger sister, Bethany, born in 1993. Your father is a surgeon, and your mother is a veterinarian. When you were eight years old, you won first place in a national science competition with your miniature rocket launcher. At fourteen, you volunteered for a summer in Guatemala, building homes for the poor. You have an IQ of 137. You were accepted into the two universities you applied to: Rice and Cornell. You chose Cornell; I'd guess because you wanted to get out of Texas. Which is interesting, because Seth was already exhibiting symptoms and warning signs of someone considering suicide-"

"Okay!" Micah snapped, looking not at all like his normal easygoing self. "I get it. You do know everything."

"It's my job to," Arthur explained. "I'm the point man. I'm the one who researches every aspect of the job, who plans for contingencies and fail-safes, the one who never lets anyone fall behind and the one whose hands you place your life in. You have to trust me above anyone else on this team, including and especially Cobb."

Micah blinked. "How did you find all that out?"

"I research," Arthur repeated. "As soon as I got to my hotel room last night, I started to research, find everything I could on you. You've never had to hide any part of your past. It wasn't hard, not at all."

Micah chuckled. "Yeah, I'll bet. So, what would happen if I google-d Arthur Zaleski?"

Arthur shrugged. "Not much. Though I think you could find a couple living in Russia. There might even be one in Biloxi."

"None of them you."

"Nope. I've only been to Jackson."

"Yeah?" Micah raised his eyebrows. "How about Russia?"

Arthur pursed his lips, but recovered quickly. "Yes, I've been to Russia. Only a couple times though. It's not my favorite place."

"You look like you'd fit in well there," Micah commented.

"I can fit in well anywhere," Arthur countered. "I have to."

"Why?"

Arthur swallowed, casting a cursory glance around the restaurant. Most of the tables were empty, and the nearest were filled with businessmen engrossed in discussion. He turned back to Micah, leaning closer again.

"Cobb told you what we are going to do is illegal," Arthur said. "How much did he say, exactly?"

Micah frowned. "It's a job for a man named Peter Browning. A reverse inception on a man you performed an inception on a year ago."

"And do you understand what that all means?"

"Cobb explained. He said it was dangerous, because we'd have to go pretty far under," Micah said.

Arthur was surprised. "And you still agreed?"

"It's one hell of an opportunity, Arthur. You studied psychology; this is the mind, completely open."

"Hm…" Arthur chuckled a little. Micah was quite the enthusiastic student. "You do know what the risks are, exactly."

Micah nodded. In a quiet voice, he whispered, "We could be sent to Limbo. Or even die."

"You do know the risks then." Arthur looked sad. "Then you know, that if this job goes wrong and Browning decides he isn't satisfied… That you're looking at spending the rest of your life on the run? That you might never be able to return to the U.S. again? That you'd have to forfeit and sever all contact with your family? That you could even be hunted down and murdered?"

Micah swallowed, looking at his lap for a moment. The waiter appeared, depositing their food in front of them. Arthur thanked him and continued once he'd left.

"Cobb and I are both wanted by major multi-billion dollar corporations," he said hurriedly. "One of these includes an international company called Cobol Engineering."

Micah nodded. "I've heard of them."

"Right. Well, they have a price on my head, a price that has restricted my movements and forced me to stay on my toes and constantly look over my shoulder. They'll pay 2.5 million dollars for my dead body, 5 million for me alive."

"_What?_" Micah was the picture of alarm. "Shit, Arthur-"

"Welcome to the world of extraction," Arthur said. "It's not all it's cracked up to be. I tried to retire last year, but Cobb pulled me back in with the not-so-gentle reminder that I can never fully be free of this." He swallowed, forcing himself to calm down. "I just really hope you can appreciate the depth and disaster you're throwing yourself towards."

There was a long silence. Arthur didn't bother to break it, instead choosing to eat his sandwich. He was aware that Micah was thinking hard, looking out the window at the Californian sunshine. The minutes stretched…

Finally, Micah took a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For your honesty, and for telling me…" He trailed off for a moment before recovering. "But… I still want to do this. I can't say no, especially not after Cobb showed me all that's possible in that world…"

Arthur grimaced. "As long as you've assessed the risk…You remind me of someone actually."

"Yeah? Who?"

Arthur smiled. "Me."

A slow smile spread over Micah's face at this. "When did you get into shared dreaming?"

"I was fifteen when I went under for the first time."

"Whoa," Micah breathed. "You were on the front lines."

"Literally," Arthur said with a dark smile. Micah looked confused. Arthur cleared his throat, abandoning his sandwich for the moment.

"Believe it or not, but the military likes to keep the records of its individual members, particularly the ones who committed suicide, rather secret," he explained. The younger man nodded, hanging on every word. "To get into their files, you must be one of two things: One, a hacker, or two, someone with an advanced knowledge of the way the military works."

Micah's confusion cleared. "You were in the military."

"I was. They paid for my tuition." He chuckled darkly to himself. "America's tax dollars at work…"

"Wow," Micah murmured. "They had high hopes for you."

"Hopes?" Arthur repeated incredulously. "The military doesn't have hopes; it has plans."

"Plans, then," Micah amended. "Cobb said that everyone on the job needed to know how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. Is that where you learned?"

"Yes." Arthur considered Micah for a moment. "And Seth taught you how to hunt; you used to go on trips with Seth's father. And you took karate lessons as a child."

Micah sighed. "You did do your homework."

"It's essential, Micah."

"I know," Micah grumbled. He changed the subject again though, raising his eyebrows at Arthur. "Why aren't you still with the military then? They invested a ton of money in educating you."

Arthur's smile quirked. "Hm… I think I'll let you figure out that one yourself."

"What?" Micah looked disappointed. "Come on, man-"

"I'm serious. Consider it your own research project. Find me when you've figured it out. Oh, and don't bother asking anyone on the team."

"They don't know?"

Arthur frowned. "Well, Cobb and Ariadne do… But they won't tell you. Eames and Yusuf don't even know I was in the military, and I try my best to keep these sorts of details from them, Eames in particular…"

"I won't say anything," Micah promised. "As long as you do the same regarding what you know about me."

"I can get on board with that," Arthur said. "But Cobb may have to know where you learned to shoot and fight. For the job, of course. You don't have to tell him what happened to Seth though." He hesitated. "It's okay as long as someone on the team knows the full truth."

Micah's eyebrows rose. "Is that true for the point man, too? Does someone on the team know the full truth about you?"

Arthur smirked. "Yes."

"Your girlfriend, right? Ari…uh…"

"Ariadne," Arthur said slowly, enunciating her name for Micah's benefit. "And yes, you're right. Though Cobb does as well." He paused, Micah's words sinking in. "How did you know…?"

"She's your girlfriend?" Micah smirked. "Well, Cobb said you were sharing a room, and I just leapt to the conclusion. You're not wearing a wedding ring, after all."

"I don't give you enough credit," Arthur muttered. Raising his voice, he clarified, "You're quite observant."

Micah beamed. "Psychology student, remember?"

"Ah."

"I just want to get everyone's names right," Micah said hurriedly. "Cobb is the extractor, you're the point man, Ariadne is the architect… Who are the other two?"

"Eames is the forger," Arthur said. "Just as it sounds, but he can also take on the appearance of others in dreams. It's actually quite impressive. And Yusuf is the chemist. He can mix compounds, sedatives that keep us asleep and make the dreams more stable."

"So what am I?"

Arthur shrugged. "Not sure yet. We'll have to see what role Cobb gives you." He finished his sandwich, setting his napkin down and drinking some water. "Are you set then? We still need to track down a place to run this show, not to mention pick up the others at LAX later tonight."

Micah nodded, swallowing the rest of his hamburger. "Yep. Lead the way."

As they exited the restaurant, a taxi already waiting for them, Arthur turned to face Micah in the doorway.

"We're not friends, Micah," he said gently. "I'm just your colleague. But I do believe, if this job goes well, we might be able to be something similar, one day."

Micah's mouth quirked. "Thanks, Arthur. I appreciate your honesty."

"As I always will be," Arthur promised. "You can trust me. Come on. Let's get out of here."

**The team reunites next chapter… Review, please!**


	12. You and Me

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Chapter title from the Penny & the Quarters song, as popularized in the 2011 film, "Blue Valentine." It's a gorgeous film, I recommend it. And what a song.**

**Thanks to Lazarus76, Iole17 and recey2010 for the reviews, and thanks to everyone else who favorited/alerted…**

**And all the players come together! Now we can get down to business…**

You And Me

Thursday, October 6, 2011: Los Angeles, California: LAX: Ariadne

A gentle poke on her arm caused Ariadne to wake up from her sleep. She sighed deeply, turning her head away, her pillow rolling with her. She wasn't aware of much else, though she was pretty sure the lights were still off. It had to have been early, so why was Arthur trying to wake her up?

She groaned as she felt his hand touch her arm again, giving her a gentle push.

"Arthur, stop it…"

A quiet chuckle made her eyes fly open, creating an expanse of thick white aluminum wall. That sure wasn't Arthur's laugh.

"Does our mutual love often wake you up in such a way?"

"Ugh," Ariadne groaned again, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She turned her head around, meeting Eames' flirtatious smile and amused expression. Ariadne ran a hand through her hair, feeling tangles and the way it was pressed down on one side from her sleeping.

She glanced down and readjusted the light blanket she'd been covered with. "Where did this come from?"

"You fell asleep somewhere over the Carolinas," Eames explained. "A voluptuous blonde who moonlights as a first class flight attendant kindly gave you this. She also gave me her number, but I don't think you're very interested in that…"

"You guessed correctly," Ariadne muttered. She glanced around. She could see the top of Yusuf's curly black hair in the seat in front of her; quiet snores told her he was sleeping, and her body ached at how much she wished she still was. "Why'd you wake me up anyway?"

Eames reached across her, flipping up the window. She blinked, focusing her eyes. A dark mass spread out beyond the plane, but in the distance, she could see a million twinkling lights. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Is that-"

"Los Angeles, baby," Eames said with a grin and in a lilting American accent. "You missed the pilot's announcement that 'we will be landing shortly.' Arthur failed to mention you were such a deep sleeper."

She blushed, choosing to ignore that last comment again. "How long?"

"Five minutes, probably. We've circled the city a couple times." Eames leaned forward, tapping Yusuf's head with his fingers. Yusuf's hand reached up, swatting the hand away with an irritated grunt. Eames smirked, settling back in his seat.

Ariadne gazed out the window, drinking in the welcome sight of the city. She had been here just over a year ago, but had been too occupied with worry over Cobb and Saito to appreciate the city. From above, it looked rather beautiful, lit up against the dark sky and black ocean that lay just beyond.

But above all: _Arthur's down there_.

The fasten seatbelt switch flicked on over head. Ariadne hurriedly followed the directions, shoving the blanket to the floor and buckling the belt.

Eames noticed. "Excited, are we?"

She scowled. "Shut up, Edward." He laughed.

The plane slowly fell out of the sky, nose tipped downward. Ariadne kept her gaze focused on the window as Los Angeles became more prevalent, the mass of lights spreading and becoming more individual, to the point she could recognize buildings and signs. She chewed her lip in anticipation as, with a thunk, the plane's wheels landed on the runway and it began to slow down.

In front of her, Yusuf leaned around his seat as the lights came back on and the plane moved to the gate. His voice was quiet in the murmur of the other passengers' as he spoke.

"Who's picking us up?"

"Well, I would hazard a guess at Arthur," Eames said thoughtfully. "With Cobb by his side. The man wouldn't dare to let Arthur and Ariadne be in an international airport at the same time sans supervision."

Yusuf's brow furrowed, but he didn't comment, just turned back around. It hit Ariadne that he didn't know about her and Arthur yet.

The moment the plane stopped at the gate, Ariadne was on her feet, waiting impatiently for Eames to shuffle out of their row. He reached up overhead and pulled down their carry-on bags, calmly passing Ariadne hers. He paused, his own in hand.

"I guess this is the end of our international vacations together," he said solemnly.

She couldn't help but smile. "I suppose it is. It was… Nice."

His eyebrows soared. "I believe that's the first time a woman has ever called my company only 'nice.'"

In front of them, Yusuf snorted. Ariadne persisted, keeping her smile intact.

"Sorry, Edward."

"Eh," Eames said dismissively. "It was worth a shot." Ariadne stilled at the familiar words, but was saved from commenting by Eames' embrace. She grinned and returned the hug warmly.

His mouth whispered above her ear, "I figured I should get the hug in now before you see your lover again."

"Edward," she sighed, rolling her eyes. She pulled away, a smirk on her face. "Seriously. You made this trip better than I thought it would be. Thank you for that."

He beamed at her praise. "That means so very much to me, love. You're welcome. And yes, you can keep the kanga."

"You're the best," she said furtively. He laughed and gestured that she should follow Yusuf first off the plane.

Ariadne followed Yusuf through the tunnel as the exited the plane. Her boots tapped on the floor as she ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame the tangles and make it look like she hadn't just woken up from a long sleep. It was too late to save her flannel blouse, which was desperately wrinkled; at least her jeans looked alright.

Yusuf strolled through the gate and Ariadne followed, with Eames on her heels. The terminal was busy, crowded with numerous people of all different races and ethnicities fighting to get to their gates on time. A large clock dominated the scene; it was just after 7:00 p.m. in L.A. Her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry for dinner.

Getting through customs wasn't a challenge. Ariadne waited patiently as the official stared her down, consulting her passport and boarding pass. She answered his questions honestly, having nothing to hide; yet. When he asked why she was in the country, she said she was visiting her American boyfriend, which wasn't a total lie.

The official shrugged and stamped her passport without further inquiry.

Ariadne walked away, glancing around surreptitiously. Yusuf was still being interviewed by his official; _so much for racial profiling_, Ariadne thought to herself. But Eames had finished at the same time as her. They met, glancing back at Yusuf.

Eames touched her arm, and nodded his head to a series of escalators. "I'll wait for Yusuf. Baggage claim is just down there. He'll be waiting."

She felt her heart settle around her stomach in anticipation. "Okay."

"Give him a kiss for me, would you, love?"

She rolled her eyes but sent one last smile at Eames before darting away, joining the flood of people milling around the escalators.

She went down two floors, past the signs warning her she couldn't return to the gate. The baggage claim was spread in front of her. She stood on the escalator, descending slowly, and scanned the crowd for his face, for his tall and handsome figure, his hair immaculately straight, his suit polished and clean—

A single movement, a flash of perfect dark brown hair—

Ariadne practically skipped off the escalator, her eyes zoomed in on the place where she'd seen him. She kept her pace at a normal speed, doing her best to not sprint and be such a cliché, like thousands of other couples—

But seeing his wide smile, the dimples lighting up his face made her want to forget, and there was too much space—

And in the next moment, she was wrapped in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder, where she inhaled deeply, breathing in the warm scent of aftershave and _him_, and she was home.

She felt him breathe, his lungs inhaling next to hers. His voice was soft when he spoke, lips whispering into her ear. "It's good to see you."

"I missed you," she said without preamble. She leaned back, settling on her feet again to study him.

He looked exhausted, she realized. His warm smile was not enough to mask the stress that lined his face. His lovely auburn eyes were tired, dark bags deeply ingrained in the skin underneath them. Even his posture was different; he was a little hunched over now, though she wondered whether that was due to an effort of standing so closely next to her.

She touched his face. He seemed to lean into her touch, his hand gripping her free one. "You look so tired."

"You _should_ look tired," he responded.

She blushed. "I slept on the plane for awhile."

"That would explain it."

"Why are we discussing this?" She breathed. She didn't wait for his answer, instead rising to her toes and pressing her lips against his. He responded as she'd expected, tangling his hand in her hair, an easy task considering its current state.

"Is that the kiss from me?"

Ariadne sighed, pulling away from Arthur to turn and glare at Eames, who arrived with Yusuf in tow. In front of her, Arthur rolled his eyes, kissing her forehead delicately and taking a step back, like he'd just realized where they were and who they were with. She looked beyond him and spotted Cobb, standing beside a boy she didn't know.

_Is he the new Arthur_?

"Yusuf," Arthur said softly. He held out his free hand to the chemist, who shook it, a delighted smirk on his features.

"It's nice to see you again, Arthur," the chemist said. "I won't bother to ask how you're doing."

Arthur nodded, looking amused. "I take it you're well, Yusuf."

"Business is good."

Cobb joined the group, shaking hands with Yusuf. As they exchanged pleasantries, Eames stepped forward to shake Arthur's hand.

"See?" He asked the point man. "Safe and sound, as agreed."

Ariadne rolled her eyes, as Arthur's arm tightened around her waist. She leaned against him, feeling his voice vibrate through his chest.

"Thank you, Eames. How was Mombasa?"

Eames shrugged. "Same as always. Didn't run into anyone or anything concerning. Did you know Yusuf has a wife?"

Arthur nodded, and Eames stared.

"You didn't _tell_ me?" The forger demanded, aghast.

"I didn't see the need to," Arthur said, reminding Ariadne of Yusuf's earlier explanation for why he'd kept mum. Eames' reaction was a good enough of a reason why not to anyway. To her surprise, Eames merely nodded at Arthur's words, looking almost abashed.

Cobb's voice brought them back to reality.

"Everyone," he said calmly. He beckoned the boy forward. Ariadne studied him, taking in his baggy jeans, Converse hi-tops and zipped up jacket. He had thick red hair and thin-framed glasses. She registered his age; he couldn't have been much older than her, she couldn't imagine Cobb and Arthur bringing anyone younger into this…

"This is Micah Harper," Cobb said.

Eames jumped in before anyone could respond. "So you're our new Arthur?"

The boy, Micah, blushed. "Um…"

"Not _new_," Cobb amended. "But he is our final team member, yes."

"New blood," Yusuf commented. He held out his hand, simply introducing himself as Yusuf. The boy shook it, stuttering through pleasantries. It was obvious he wasn't pleased by Yusuf and Eames' first words. Ariadne jumped in to offer some comfort.

She shook his hand warmly. "Hi, I'm Ariadne Chopin, I'm the architect."

"Arthur told me," Micah said. She flicked her eyes to Arthur, whose arm was still around her waist. He didn't comment as Eames strode forward.

"Edward Eames," he said in a serious tone. "Pleasure to meet you, I'm sure we'll be intimate friends in just a few days' time."

Micah stared, jaw somewhat slack. Arthur touched his shoulder.

"That's just Eames. Try what I do: Ignore him."

"Oh, I missed you, darling," Eames chuckled. Cobb sighed impatiently and abruptly turned, stalking away, Micah trailing him. Arthur followed Ariadne, Eames and Yusuf to the baggage claim.

"What's with the kid?" Yusuf asked as they watched the carousel of luggage, in from the flight from London.

Arthur's nose wrinkled. "Not sure yet. He's quiet, but amazingly perceptive."

"Please tell me he's tougher than he looks," Eames muttered. "I'd bet that even Ariadne could take him down without much work."

"Hey-"

"You're tiny, sue me," Eames explained at Ariadne's interruption.

"I don't know yet," Arthur said in response to Eames' comment. Yusuf darted forward to snatch his bag. "He hadn't used a PASIV until yesterday, but Cobb said he got on really well. He has a strong background in karate and hunting, too."

"Where's he from?"

"Texas."

Eames nodded, as if that explained everything. "Not much in the way of an accent though."

"He's been on the East Coast for a while. Plus, he told me he never liked the accent much. People judged him automatically when he spoke with it." Arthur gave Eames a pointed look. Ariadne knew that he was suggesting Eames to be one of the judges.

Their luggage came in soon after and the group left the baggage claim, emerging to the load and unload area. Arthur's hand was warm in Ariadne's, her bag slung over his shoulder. He still wasn't acting quite normally to her, and she was desperate to ask why.

_Maybe it's just the stress of the job_, she suggested to herself. But something told her it was more than that.

Cobb and Micah were waiting by a taxi van. Cobb appraised them, his features softening into relief. Ariadne realized why with a shock: he had just left them alone in the airport.

"Cobb trusts us to not run," she whispered in realization.

Arthur's hand tightened around hers. "He's aware that I know he'd catch us too quickly." She shot him a look, his jaw clenched. She didn't say anything, only followed him into the car.

"Where to, boss?" Eames asked liltingly as the van pulled away. "I could do with freshening up."

"Dinner," Cobb said.

"Excellent," Yusuf muttered. Ariadne smiled and looked at Arthur. His face was stoic as he looked out the window, ignoring her.

What was wrong with him?

Cobb had gotten them a reservation at an upper-class restaurant in the heart of the city. Ariadne felt exceedingly underdressed as she shuffled behind Arthur through the well-dressed patrons. Her self-esteem broke into free fall when she noticed more than one woman giving her boyfriend a double-take, and she cursed her tangled hair and ragged appearance.

Once they'd reached their table and Cobb and Yusuf had settled down, she touched Arthur's wrist, informing him she was going to the restroom. He simply nodded, sending her worry skyrocketing.

The bathroom was just as fancy and exquisite as Ariadne had expected. Tall vases of roses dotted the scene, with small couches scattered nearby. She marched in and went straight to the long line of mirrors over the sink.

Her skin was disgusting looking, still flushed from the confined heat of the plane. She looked down, glowering but secretly pleased when she realized the place was expensive enough to have real towels. She grabbed one and ran it under cold water, rubbing it over her face.

_Get a grip_, she hissed to herself. There was no need to outright panic; yet.

She took several deep breaths, frowning at herself in the mirror. She looked like a scared little girl, and she hated it.

Ariadne slipped a hair elastic off her wrist and tied her shoulder-length brown hair into a loose ponytail. It wasn't much, and didn't make her feel a whole lot better, but it was a definite improvement. It would all be moot anyway when she stood next to Arthur, who always looked like he'd stepped out of a classic black and white movie.

_Would it kill him to dress down every now and then?_

Well, no, it wouldn't, and Ariadne had seen him do it before. To celebrate her twenty-third birthday and his thirtieth (for they were close together), they'd taken a cruise in the Mediterranean Sea, visiting the south of France, Italy and Greece. (They'd stayed away from Africa, for Arthur couldn't guarantee not being intercepted by unfriendly acquaintances.) Ariadne had almost fallen over in shock when Arthur strolled over to her one day, wearing tan shorts and a plain white t-shirt, his feet bare. His eyebrows had shot up at her stunned expression, but his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

_Naturally, he still looked ridiculously attractive_, she cursed to herself at the memory. He always did, no matter the circumstances, and she never failed to look like a gangly and awkward college student.

Even at twenty-three, and living with a man seven years her senior, Ariadne still felt like a little kid sometimes. It didn't help things that they were in Los Angeles, a city populated with hundreds of thousands of ridiculously beautiful models and actresses, women who actually looked like they should be dating Arthur.

"Dammit," Ariadne cursed aloud. She washed her hands quickly and dried her eyes, only pausing before leaving the bathroom to make sure her mascara hadn't run.

She found her team at their table, already making their way through a first round of drinks. She couldn't help but feel a jump in her heart when she spotted her favorite drink already in front of the empty seat beside Arthur.

He touched her hand when she sat down. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, keeping her voice level. Arthur nodded without comment, taking a drink of whiskey. Across the table, Ariadne's eyes met Eames'; he looked concerned, his eyes flickering from hers to Arthur's downcast ones. She shook her head minutely and he turned to Cobb.

"What did Browning say?"

The air in the room felt supercharged. All eyes were on Cobb, who shot a glance at the empty hallway. Ariadne realized why they were in the very back of the restaurant and wondered how much extra Cobb had paid to keep them on their own.

"Nothing I didn't expect," Cobb said. He straightened and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a stack of carefully folded papers. He unfolded them, and used the salt and pepper shakers to flatten them out on the tabletop.

They were meticulously taken notes, Ariadne realized. Cobb's comments on Browning's words, his handwriting fluid and neat.

"Any chance of getting the abridged version?" Yusuf wondered.

Cobb nodded. "He's giving us two weeks to research and prepare."

You could've heard a pin drop. Cobb looked at his plate, ignoring the stares of five pairs of eyes locked onto him. The shock and horror in the room was palpable.

"Two _weeks_?" Arthur's voice was ice.

Eames' head was shaking furiously. "Not a chance. Not a chance. We have no bloody chance."

Yusuf was flabbergasted. "I don't know if I can get the chemicals I need in two weeks. It'll take almost as long for everything to come from Kenya."

"I don't think I can design _one_ dream level in two weeks, nonetheless…" Ariadne trailed off. "How many?"

"Three."

She swallowed. "Cobb, I had two _months_ to design three levels. And it was hard enough then, how can-"

"You've designed dreams before, the second time around will be easier," Cobb hissed, interrupting her.

"Don't speak to her like that," Arthur snapped. "Jesus Christ, Cobb, she's right. How can we do this in two weeks? I was expecting two months at the very least. This is a quarter of that!"

"I don't even know who I'm supposed to forge," Eames commented. "How do you expect me to learn their mannerisms and take on their appearance so quickly?"

"WE HAVE TO!"

Cobb's yell caused silence to descend on the table. Ariadne stared at Cobb, who leaned forward, his hands gripping his hair.

"Look," he breathed roughly. "I _know_ just how impossible this is. I know why you're all upset, why you think it can't be done. But we're going to have to move on from the can't and focus on the can. We must do this."

"It's not a question of desire," Eames said. "It's a question of logistics."

Arthur leaned forward, his face hard. "Browning is screwing with you, Cobb. He's setting you up for failure. He doesn't want to see Fischer change his mind; he knows that can't happen. He wants to see you destroyed, and the fact you're taking the rest of us down with you only adds to his enjoyment of this game."

Another long silence fell around the table at Arthur's pronouncement. While the others' eyes moved from Arthur to Cobb and back again (Micah looked scared) Ariadne kept hers solely on the man she loved. Arthur didn't look at her; he only stared at Cobb.

Ever so slowly, Cobb straightened.

"You're right, Arthur," he whispered. "You're right. Browning knows this is a pipe dream."

Micah's lip twitched, and Ariadne guessed he'd noticed the inadvertent pun. Thankfully, he didn't comment, realizing the time wasn't right.

"Then why are you still letting him run the show?" Arthur demanded.

"Because I can't just give up," Cobb said miserably. "He showed me a video of them today."

Everyone, except Micah, knew who 'they' were. Eames leaned back in his chair, flicking the toothpick around his mouth. Yusuf's face twisted grimly. Arthur closed his eyes.

"You need to prepare yourself, Cobb," he whispered.

Cobb's eyes blazed. "You're one to talk, Arthur. You're not exactly an expert on letting go."

"Cobb-"

"When were you going to tell me why you really left the dream early last night?" Cobb whispered in a deadly voice. Arthur's eyes widened and he sat up, stick-straight, gaping at the extractor.

"How do you-"

"Know?" Cobb finished, glaring. "Micah and I were on the Ferris wheel. We saw you fall."

Ariadne, Eames and Yusuf all stared blankly.

Eames spoke first. "What-"

"Arthur isn't telling us the truth," Cobb hissed. He almost looked demented now. Arthur's knuckles were white, he was gripping the table so hard.

"The truth?" Yusuf asked, bewildered. "What truth?"

"Arthur," Ariadne whispered. "You told me you didn't go into the dream…"

Cobb turned on her, rising to his feet. "It's time to wake up, Ariadne. Arthur's been lying to you as well."

"Leave her out of this," Arthur hissed, standing as well.

Cobb's nostrils almost flared. The tension between the two men was electric, fueled by hate, desperation, sorrow and fear.

"Why?" He asked softly. "She's the problem."

Eames flinched suddenly, and Ariadne looked at him. His expression was horrified, as he gazed at Arthur.

"Oh, Arthur," he murmured.

"How long has it been happening?" Cobb demanded, yelling at Arthur now, spit flying from his mouth. "How often?"

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Ariadne felt like the foot of distance between her and him was a deep gorge, one she could not cross. "It's never happened before," he told Cobb. "I told you; I hadn't used the PASIV in months."

"What's going on?" Yusuf asked hesitantly.

"Micah." Arthur's voice was soft, as his eyes snapped to the younger man. Everyone looked as well, surprised by the change in conversation. "Micah, this is why you should leave now. Remember what I said earlier. Trust me."

Micah's expression cleared. To everyone's amazement, he slowly rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Cobb's voice was shrapnel.

"I…" Micah trailed off, hesitantly. He cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. "I think he's right. I shouldn't do this."

Cobb's eyes were fierce. "You trust _him_? He's not stable!"

"_I'm_ not stable?" Arthur asked. "Excuse me?"

"_You were murdered by the woman you love!_"

Nothing could've prepared Ariadne for that statement. She gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth as she felt her insides turn to ice.

_What did he say?_

Arthur visibly deflated, his spine curving into himself as he fell back into his seat. He bowed his head, gripping it tightly between his hands.

Ariadne recovered her voice. "What? Arthur, what is he talking about?"

Cobb turned on her, and Arthur didn't stop him. "His projection of you pushed him off a pier, and he didn't even try to stop her."

"I didn't exactly see it coming," Arthur muttered.

"Which makes it all the more worse," Cobb hissed. "Remember Mal? Remember what happened there? This is the same thing all over again, your projection of Ariadne will continue to kill you!"

"Why?" Ariadne asked hopelessly.

"You're haunting him, love," Eames said gently. His eyes were on Arthur's hunched form, and they were somber. "You've taken over his control…"

"When you're done psychoanalyzing me," Arthur hissed, looking up. Ariadne felt the horror rolling through her and she turned to him.

"_Why_?" She repeated.

He refused to meet her eyes. "I don't want to discuss this."

She gaped at him. "What? We have to, Arthur! Why am I killing you?"

"Ariadne." Arthur's voice was colder than she'd ever heard it. It was like she was talking to a stranger, like Arthur was the shade and this was her worst nightmare. "Please. Drop it."

"Arthur-"

"I said, _drop it_."

There was another long silence, where Ariadne stared in astonishment at her lover, who ignored her gaze. She felt numb, the distress rolling over her in waves.

In all their time together, Arthur had never raised his voice around her. He'd never made her feel like anything less than beloved, worshipped, nurtured and adored. Yet here he was, his voice like a razor, cutting over her heart, which felt like it'd cracked a little.

And she knew what she needed to do

Without a word, she picked up her bag, got to her feet and turned away, walking quickly out of the room. She heard the muffled voices of her team but ignored them, focusing on getting out of there as fast as she could move. She barreled through the main part of the restaurant, shoving past surprised patrons and irritated waiters, the tears already streaming down her face, tears of anger, hurt and plain old exhaustion.

She ran out of the restaurant, letting the door fall heavily behind her. She turned to her left, walking quickly, her bag bumping against her in a reassuring pattern. The air was warm and she embraced it, crossing her arms over her chest and studying the street for a bus or a taxi, anything that could get her away from this nightmare.

She'd only made it two more steps when she felt a familiar hand curl around her upper arm and a familiar voice whisper, "Ari-"

"_Get away from me!_" She snapped, not bothering to turn and meet Arthur's eyes, glued to her head.

"Please, Ari, wait-"

"Why should I?" She snapped. "You've made it perfectly clear that you don't want to talk to me."

He sighed. "I know, I was being a jerk-"

"Let me go. Arthur. Let me go." She turned then, her feet stopped on the sidewalk. Arthur looked guilty, his face strained. His eyes were sad as he studied her expression.

"Please, Ari, I can't…"

"I swear to God, I will scream at the top of the lungs if you do not drop my arm," she hissed. To her relief, Arthur acquiesced, his hand releasing her arm. She nodded curtly at him before continuing her angry walk.

But to her mounting irritation, Arthur didn't leave. He simply followed her in silence, his steps so quiet, it was like he wasn't really there.

"Arthur," she said, not turning around and not slowing down. "Leave me alone."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not slowing down either, keeping pace and speaking to her back. "I'm sorry, Ariadne. I'm just..."

She stopped and spun, glaring at him through slitted eyes. "Just what, Arthur?"

He swallowed. "I'm just scared."

"Of what? Not getting every detail right? Of looking vulnerable? Of coming off as a frigging _human_, and not a robot? Well, I've got news for you-"

She stopped talking when Arthur put his hand against her mouth, blocking her words. His eyes were sorrowful as he ran them over her face. She remained still, bewildered, as his other hand wrapped itself around her face.

He shook his head. "Wrong. I'm scared of _you_."

Well, she hadn't expected that. Ariadne blinked at him. Arthur looked at her for a long moment, before slowly taking his hand off her mouth. They looked at each other.

"Explain," she said softly.

"You are my weakness," he murmured. "You are the reason I gave up my lifestyle for a different one, one that could include you. You are the one thing I would risk my life for to protect without a moment's hesitation. You are the one person I want the most, the one desire I can't get enough of. You are the only woman in the world with the power to crush me and utterly obliterate me; and you can do it all so easily, by only leaving me."

She swallowed, overwhelmed by his words. "So Cobb's projection of me killed you…"

"… Because I see you as something of a threat," Arthur whispered brokenly. "Because of how scared I am for you, how much you've changed me. You are the only person I could never hurt, the only one I would allow myself to fall for." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I cannot lose you, Ariadne. I couldn't bear it."

"Oh, God, Arthur…" Shaking, she raised her hands to his head, her hands brushing his hair. Then, before she quite knew what she was doing, she was kissing him, every part she could reach. His cheek, his nose, his forehead, his eyelids, his neck, his collarbone, shoulder, chest and arms, all separated from her mouth by his shirt and vest.

"Don't be silly," she said gently. "You won't lose me."

"You can't promise me that," he croaked, eyes closed as she continued her relentless attack.

"I can promise this," she said. "Arthur, look at me."

He did, his auburn eyes opening to stare into her own chocolate eyes.

"Arthur Zaleski," she whispered. "I promise that I will never leave you willingly. That I will never leave you as long as I have the free choice to stay. That I will never _want_ to leave you, that I'll stay with you for the rest of my life if I can…"

"Don't," he groaned. "Don't do this to me…"

"I love you," she said desperately. "I love you so much, you mean the world to me…"

"I know, I know," he moaned, his nose pressed into her cheek, his exhale falling over her skin. She brought him closer, holding his tie in her hands, kissing the edge of his mouth. He turned his head, kissing her mouth softly, while he continued his mantra. "I know, I know…"

She was kissing him then, her face pressed against his, her mouth moving in a desperate rhythm against his own. He kissed her like he was dying, like it was their last kiss, like the world was falling apart around them. The city faded away; Ariadne tuned it out, focusing only on Arthur, whose whole body trembled in her arms.

She'd always thought of him as the strong one, the one who did what had to be done, whose weaknesses were few and far between. But the way he kissed her now proved she'd been wrong, that she'd been looking at his single flaw every day, whenever she glanced in the mirror.

"Arthur," she murmured, pulling away. He stepped with her, smothering her words with another heated kiss. She sighed deeply, trying again. "Arthur. Tell me what she did."

He sighed, opening his eyes but keeping her tight against him.

"She… She was kissing me," he murmured. Ariadne felt like she'd walked into a sort of Twilight Zone, listening to Arthur speak about her as though she wasn't there. "Speaking to me… She quoted Mal, what she told you when you went into Cobb's dreams."

Ariadne stared. "What…"

"'You know, now,'" Arthur quoted. "'What it is to be a lover…'"

"To be half of a whole," Ariadne realized.

Arthur winced. "Please don't say it. It's like I'm back there with her."

"Sorry," Ariadne grimaced. "Please, continue."

"She was still kissing me," Arthur said. "And I wasn't really paying attention. I knew she wasn't real, I knew you were really in Mombasa with Eames, but… I missed you. And she felt just like you. It was easy to lie to myself. Anyway, her voice changed. Became hard, and completely wrong, not you. And she asked me, 'But Arthur, even if you are half of a whole, you will need to learn to let go.'"

Ariadne was quiet, digesting Arthur's words. "What did she mean?"

"I have no idea. She pushed me off the pier, and well… I mean, I did let her go, because I didn't want to pull her down with me."

"Sweet of you," Ariadne commented. Arthur rolled his eyes. "That's really odd she said that, because Yusuf's wife said something very similar to me."

Arthur stared at her, stunned. "What? What happened?"

"Edward had me put on this thing called a kanga-"

Arthur sighed. "Shit. I forgot about that."

"He said you must've," Ariadne agreed. "But he had a couple, so I was fine, and it went well, we got Yusuf… Anyway. One of the kanga I was wearing had this phrase in Swahili on the edge."

"Jina," Arthur said in recognition. "She translated it?"

"Yes, and then some," Ariadne said. "We were talking—her name is Makena—And I asked her how she did it, how she freely let Yusuf go all the time without knowing when he would be back. She said she just did it, because she knew he would always come back. And I said that I wished I shared her faith, and she told me she thought I did, because of what my kanga said."

"Which was…"

Ariadne stretched, putting her lips by Arthur's ear, whispering. "It said, '_Everything is all right if you love each other_.'"

Arthur swallowed, the words resonating with him. "I don't think that's always true."

"I don't either," Ariadne admitted. "But Makena persevered. She told me, 'Keep faith, young one. He will return, but only if you learn to let him go first.'"

She watched the amazement spread over Arthur's face as he considered Makena's words.

"It's odd," he commented. "How similar those two things we were told are, even though they aren't related…"

She chuckled, pressing her face into his vest, inhaling his scent again. "I don't think I'll be letting you go anytime soon."

"Good. I learned my lesson the first time around with you, too. I'm not interested in being pushed off a pier again."

Ariadne kissed him again, smiling against his mouth. His hand curled around the back of her neck, cradling her head.

"Not that I wouldn't love to continue this," Ariadne said gently. "But I'm going to go ahead and guess that everyone is waiting for us."

He sighed deeply. "Let them wait."

"Arthur, we only have two weeks…"

"True," he said. "So what's the point?"

"We can't abandon Cobb," Ariadne said gently. "We have to try. That's why we're here, after all."

"Wrong. We're here because Cobb blackmailed us into being here."

Ariadne couldn't help but smirk as she disentangled herself from Arthur's arms, only keeping his hand. "Come on. I'm hungry."

"As you wish," Arthur said, allowing Ariadne to tug him along.

She smiled, her earlier anxieties about Arthur were largely appeased, but one remained. "Arthur?"

"Yes, Ari?"

"If you ever say anything like that to me again, I will have to slap you."

**Quick note: If anyone thinks that Arthur's explanation for the actions of his projection is weak/flimsy… Remember that **_**he**_** is talking to **_**Ariadne**_**, and not a third party, and he might not want to tell her the full truth… Just something to consider. This issue will be revisited later on.**

**Review, please!**


	13. Fast Car

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Thanks for the reviews from the ever-faithful Lazarus76 and PrettyPrettyPlease. Overwhelming praise, and so much gratitude. This one's for you guys…**

**Chapter title from the Tracy Chapman song, which is one of my all-time favorites.**

Fast Car

Thursday, October 6, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The J Restaurant: Eames

Eames looked up at the sound of footsteps. His mouth fell open a little bit as Ariadne and Arthur entered the room, holding hands. Their expressions were smooth, but he could sense they'd overcome their earlier disagreement. Ariadne's bag was slung over Arthur's shoulder, but otherwise, they appeared the same.

Except for the faint pink marks dotted over Arthur's clothes. Eames raised his eyebrows, glancing at Ariadne's lips. Her pink lip gloss had definitely faded.

Cobb slowly rose to his feet as the couple walked into the room. He stared uncertainly as they sank down into their seats; both barely acknowledged the plates of food that had been ordered for them.

"Well…?"

"Not another word," Arthur said stoically. "Let's focus on the bigger problem on hand. The lack of trust."

Everyone seemed to relax as Arthur spoke. Recognizing he wasn't about to witness another shouting match, Eames settled again in his seat, taking another long swig of alcohol.

"How do we remedy this?" He asked.

"By learning to accept we can't change the situation," Arthur said clearly. "We all have our roles here. I'm the point man, which means I'm the one who has the responsibility of getting everyone out safely. And there's no way I can even attempt that if I feel like someone can be waiting to stick a dagger in another's back."

There was a short pause, and then Micah surprised them all by speaking.

"Look," the student said gently. "I don't know what exactly this weird, messed up history is between any of you… But I have no reason to distrust anyone at this point. I also think I have the least to lose here. I'm a fast learner, so the sooner you teach me how this works, the sooner I can help. But you can trust me right now."

Eames blinked. "Well said, kid." Micah flushed.

"I saved all of your lives on the inception job," Yusuf said. "And I'm being paid handsomely for my services now. But I do not have anything against anyone on a personal level. I can be trusted."

"Hm." Eames let his gaze travel over the other three who had yet to speak. "Looks like it's just us old chums, then."

Ariadne took a deep breath. "Well, I don't have any reason to not trust Micah." She cast him a cursory nod as she spoke. "And I like you, Yusuf, well enough, though I think I like your wife more." Yusuf chuckled, and Eames stilled as Ariadne turned her gaze on him.

"Edward," she said. "You can be a serious prick and an obnoxious flirt, but I like you."

He chuckled. "Thank you, love. I happen to adore you."

Ariadne smiled at him, before casting her gaze on Arthur. Her mouth quirked. "Well. You know how I feel about you."

Arthur smiled. "I do. It goes both ways." Eames entertained himself by studying a faint pink mark on Arthur's collar.

Eames watched as the couple's gaze turned to Cobb, and he followed their lead.

"Cobb," Arthur said. "You're the core of this problem."

"What about me, darling?" Eames asked, having not heard Arthur's opinion of him.

The younger man looked at him. "We have our disagreements, but I trust you to do what needs to be done. And I think we often agree on what exactly that means."

Eames frowned, slightly confused by Arthur's words. The expression on the point man's face told him that Arthur was really focused as he spoke, which led Eames to believe there was something else behind the words… But what was it?

"I appreciate your honesty," Eames said. "And I concur." Arthur spared him a single nod before turning back to Cobb, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

"There you have it, Cobb," Arthur said, his voice like stone. "You're the only one in this room that I don't trust."

"What can I do?" Cobb asked. "How can I get you to trust me again?"

Arthur blinked. "Simple. By learning to trust _me_."

Another short silence fell over the table. Eames ran his hand over his face, before picking up his knife and fork and cutting off a bit of steak. He chewed thoughtfully; he had a feeling the table would eventually end up flipped over, and wanted to get as much free dinner as he could out of it. Across from him, Yusuf seemed to be following his lead, wolfing down his salmon, while Micah's blue eyes were wide, his fork aimlessly pushing his alfredo pasta around.

"Arthur," Cobb said slowly. "You know why I don't…"

"You're terrified that I'll run," Arthur said, finishing his sentence. "And yes, I do see why that's a dilemma you cannot surpass. So let me tell you this: I know you're keeping an eye on me. And I know that you would be on my tail within minutes of my running. You must've bought out the front desk and hotel security guards, right?"

Cobb had the decency to blush. Eames was impressed; Cobb had really gone the whole nine yards.

"I'm not going to try anything," Arthur murmured. "I'm…" He paused for a moment before looking up again, staring directly at Cobb. "I'm the same point man I've always been, Cobb. The one who's always gotten you out okay, who's saved your life so many times…"

"I know." Cobb surprised Eames by speaking. The extractor was hunched, his own steak barely touched. He eventually raised his head, looking at Arthur.

"I'm sorry," Cobb whispered. "Arthur, I am so sorry. Please. Believe me."

"I think I do," Arthur said. "It doesn't mean I forgive you. But I understand why you did it."

Eames had stopped eating, staring at the two men in surprise. He'd known that Arthur would never forgive Cobb, but he hadn't expected this either. Yet here he was, acting so civilly and full of understanding. Eames' eyes flickered to Ariadne, who wore a small smile, watching Arthur as he spoke.

_He's grown up_, Eames thought.

Cobb nodded. "I guess that's the best I could hope for."

"I'll say," Eames interjected. Cobb looked at him as he continued. "The only reason I've accepted the blackmail you've done on me is because I _know_ I would do the same to you if I decided the need was great enough. I'm just as bad as you." He dipped his head at Arthur. "He's the good man neither of us ever were."

Arthur blinked at Eames, obviously thrown by the warm sentiment. He recovered quickly, finally beginning to eat the food ordered for him.

"So, Cobb," he said, matter-of-factly, like this was a pleasant vacation lunch. "What's the plan?"

The atmosphere around the table relaxed greatly. Eames smirked to himself as everyone but Yusuf began to eat dinner with renewed enthusiasm (except for Yusuf, who finally slowed, at least calming Micah, whose eyes had been flickering to him as if checking that the Heimlich maneuver would not be necessary.) Cobb returned to his notes, straightening them again as he launched into speech.

"There's a certain amount of detail and ideas we will recreate from the first job," he explained fluidly. Eames watched, one eye on the notes and one on his plate. "Except the idea of the job is radically different. It's no longer-"

"'I will split up my father's empire,'" Eames quoted.

Cobb shot him a quick glance. "Right. Instead, I'm thinking it'll be this: 'I will rebuild my father's empire."

"Simple enough," Eames agreed. "But we all know that's not even half of the problem."

"Yes," Cobb said. "Rather than lead Fischer on an exploration with Browning, I think we'll do the complete opposite. We'll lead Fischer on a trip with his deceased father."

Eames stopped eating, staring at Cobb. "Come again?"

"You heard me."

"Cobb," he said, in a voice that suggested pure disbelief. And he'd thought the man was crazy before… "I can't forge someone who I can't study. And Maurice Fischer has been dead for over a year. How the hell am I supposed to copy his mannerisms, his personality, the man he was?"

"Browning," Cobb said in explanation. "He's got access to everything in Mr. Fischer's life. He'll be able to give you all the materials you'll need, including video of Mr. Fischer speaking and interacting with his son. Home movies. Plus, Browning has assured me he will join you in as many interview sessions you require to glean the information from him. They were best friends, after all."

Eames scowled. "I don't know if that'll be enough, Cobb."

"I know. But you're the best forger I know."

_Damn straight_. "Alright, so I'm impersonating Maurice Fischer… What are the levels like?"

"First level we'll make him ask the question: 'Did I make the right choice in breaking up the empire?' On the second, once we've established the insecurity and uncertainty, we'll bring back the memories: 'My father would not have wanted this.' So when we reach the third level, Mr. Fischer himself will make his grand appearance with the last statement: 'To reclaim my father's legacy, I will save his empire.' That makes Fischer feel like he's doing the right thing and is redeeming himself."

Arthur frowned. "That doesn't sound very positive."

"It's not. Browning fed me the idea of making the dreams a nightmare, but I shut that down and explained my theory. I then suggested this and he acquiesced."

"And you think it'll work?" Ariadne asked.

Cobb sighed. "Who knows. But I do think it's our best shot."

Ariadne had reached into one of her bags and procured a notepad, upon which she scribbled down Cobb's ideas. Eames watched as she raised her head.

"So any suggestions as to what the levels should physically be?"

"You'll have to go with Eames to meet with Browning," Cobb said. "He'll walk you through Robert Fischer's childhood. There should be something that you can recreate, at least for the second level."

Ariadne nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. "A house, a park…" Her voice drifted away as she started writing furiously again.

"I've done all the research on Browning and Fischer," Arthur said suddenly. "What's left for me to do?"

"Go a little deeper into Browning."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Cobb sighed.

"I just want to double-check the background," he muttered. "Make sure that everything Browning tells Eames and Ariadne checks out. We can't afford to mess up because of his lies. Plus, you need to research what the company has been doing in the last year."

"Aside from breaking up," Arthur murmured. But Eames saw his expression and knew Arthur was mentally creating a to-do list.

"Yusuf," Cobb said. "I need you to work on a sedative. We're going three levels down, but if possible… See what you can do to prevent any of us from going to Limbo."

_Limbo_. In all the chaos and uncertainty, Eames had almost forgotten about that detail. He looked down at his near-empty plate in thought. It wasn't like he could back out now, even though backing out of anything Cobb ever wanted to do again had been his first thought when Destination Limbo was revealed in the last Fischer job. He wondered what its current state was; he'd never gotten the full story on what had happened last time, what with Cobb rushing off to his kids and Ariadne rushing off with the point man…

Yusuf's voice interrupted Eames' troubled thoughts. "I'll get started then. But Cobb; I don't know if there's anything I can do."

"I know," Cobb assured him. "But I'd like you to try anyway."

"Of course."

"What about me?"

Eames almost laughed at the concerned student's voice. Micah had been watching the exchanges in complete silence, but Eames had noticed his expression become more and more agitated as the tasks were delegated.

"You're with me," Cobb said. "And Arthur."

Arthur looked up, fork halfway to mouth. "Sorry?"

"We need to train him," Cobb said to Arthur. "While I'm meeting with Browning and other acquaintances, you'll be training Micah. And while you're researching and planning, I'll train Micah."

"Train me in what, exactly?" Micah wondered.

"Dreams," Cobb said straightforwardly. "How to move around in them, what to look out for and most importantly, how to handle projections. Fischer's subconscious is militarized. You need to prepare for that."

Micah's jaw had fallen open. "It's _what?_"

"Militarized," Eames said, taking the question. "It knows how to kill intruders."

"Not every subconscious is like that?"

"Not unless they've been trained," Cobb said. "Good extractors and thieves can go in and out of a dream without the mark even being aware of what happened. But militarized subconsciouses are very aware and very deadly."

Micah swallowed thickly. "Okay."

"Don't worry young Harper," Eames interjected, smirking at the boy's blush. _How old is this kid?_ "We're professionals at this."

"Plus, your background proves you won't be a novice at this," Arthur added, with a pointed look at the boy. Micah nodded.

Yusuf had been writing in his own notebook but looked up suddenly. "How many team members?"

There was a short pause, where Arthur and Cobb stared at each other. Arthur's face was expressionless and stony, while Cobb's was flustered and apologetic. Arthur eventually nodded with a deep sigh of regret while Cobb answered Yusuf.

"Eight."

"_Eight?_"

"Browning's the tourist this time around. Like Saito, he wants to witness the job." Eames opened his mouth to protest, but Cobb continued. "Yes, I told him what happened to Saito. He remained adamant that he come along."

"It would be a shame if he fell into limbo," Arthur muttered. Ariadne shot him a look.

"Arthur has a point," Eames interjected. A thought had occurred to him. "Why don't we just send him to Limbo in the dream? That would solve all our problems."

Ariadne looked horrified. "We can't do that!" Eames looked from her to Arthur, whose own thoughtful expression told him he had support from the point man.

But Cobb was already shaking his head. "Browning and his team are running background checks on us. I don't know how much he'll find, but it'll be in the company's computer system, and enough to have decent information on us."

"He won't get it," Arthur said suddenly. Eames looked at him, and was surprised by how serious and straightforward he looked. Arthur honestly believed what he was saying. "He won't find that information."

"On _you_," Cobb agreed. "You're right; he won't be able to find anything on you. But he'll easily get his hands on information about the rest of us…" He trailed off, having noticed Eames' bewildered look.

Eames' mind was spinning. How did Arthur _know_ his information would be hidden? How did Cobb know Arthur was right? Eames was aware that Arthur was pretty much the ultimate master of secrecy in the shared dreaming world; _everyone_ knew that. After all, he didn't even know what Arthur's real surname was, not to mention his real birthday… How old was Arthur? Eames looked at Ariadne as he thought. _She's a graduate student, so she can't be older than twenty-four…_

Yusuf was troubled, interrupting Eames' mental math. "That's a big team."

"This is a big dream."

"And the kid understands what could go wrong if he dies in the dream?" Eames asked, nodding at Micah but talking to Cobb.

Micah answered him. "Yes. Limbo."

"Unlimited dream space," Eames pressed. "Nothing is down there. You could wander there forever…"

"Cobb told me how to get out," Micah said quickly.

"That's a tiny part of the problem. You'll forget Limbo isn't reality, and you'll be hard-pressed to remember again."

Arthur frowned. "He'll need a totem. Before we go under again."

"A totem?" Micah looked confused.

"A small item," Cobb explained. "That you can keep on your person at all times. It needs to be personal, and something only you touch and know the feel of. So when you use it, you know you're awake."

Micah looked impressed. "You all have these?"

"It becomes essential." Cobb reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the familiar spinning top. Eames pretended not to notice Ariadne's arrested expression at the sight of it. Instead, he contented himself with brushing the small gold sapphire ring in his pocket.

"…That'll be the first thing." Eames was brought back to reality, not by his totem, but by Cobb's voice continuing his talk of totems. Micah had a serious expression, deep in thought.

"What's the schedule, then?" Arthur wondered.

"Eames will visit Browning tomorrow afternoon," Cobb said. "And Ariadne, I recommend you go with him. But how you design is up to you, you're the architect…"

"Am I correct in assuming you don't want to know the layouts this time around as well?" She asked.

Cobb sighed, but nodded. "I think so, just to be safe."

"What about Arthur?"

Eames had to admit, even he was surprised by his own question. All eyes turned to him, but he maintained his neutral expression. It was something that needed to be asked.

"I need to know," Arthur said softly. "If Cobb doesn't want to know, I'm the only one besides Yusuf and Eames with enough experience to dream a level." He swallowed. "It only happened the one time, too, I just need more practice…" He trailed off.

Cobb nodded. "I agree with Arthur." He looked at Eames. "We can't afford having a point man who doesn't know the layouts. Arthur's help is more valuable."

"Isn't it more dangerous to Arthur, though?" Eames asked. "She didn't kill you or Micah."

"Or Bristol," Arthur murmured. Eames wondered who the hell Bristol was, but stayed on topic. One crisis at a time.

"If Arthur knows the layouts," he pressed. "Then maybe his projection of Ariadne will manifest itself because it has easier access to getting to Arthur. Killing him would be a piece of cake…"

He stopped talking though, at the stricken expression on the real Ariadne's face.

Arthur started shaking his head. "It's still a toss-up."

Toss-up. Was that all Arthur's life was these days? Eames remembered Arthur's earlier words to him: _I trust you to do what needs to be done_…

Could they be connected?

Ariadne took a deep breath, but when she spoke, her voice was quite level. "Okay. So only Cobb doesn't know about the layouts…"

"Sounds about right."

A waiter appeared from around the corner, brandishing the check. Cobb took it without pause and had laid out a pile of cash before the man even left the room. He got to his feet fluidly, checking his watch.

"I'm going to leave then," he said. "Arthur's got the address of our facilities…"

Arthur nodded and passed Eames and Yusuf small slips of paper. Eames unfolded his, recognizing Arthur's handwriting: a street address was written.

"Another warehouse?" Yusuf guessed.

"On the beach," Eames said, recognizing the name of the street. "Nice."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Micah and I happened to stumble on it earlier today. It's completely isolated. The beach was just a bonus."

"I'll say…"

Cobb waved a hand airily. "Good luck." He turned and left the room, leaving the rest of the team there.

The moment he was gone, Yusuf breathed out loudly, running a hand through his thick black hair.

"This is hopeless," he grumbled.

"But you're still going to do it," Arthur finished.

Yusuf frowned. "Yes. But this is madness. Cobb is-"

"-Not thinking straight," Arthur agreed.

Eames saw it differently. He stared at Arthur in perplexity. "You're still sticking up for him," he marveled. "Even though the man continues to degrade your odds of survival… Why?"

"You said it yourself, Eames." Arthur grinned, a grin that was stunningly honest to Eames. "I'm a good man."

"Or you're just as delusional as he is," Eames mumbled.

"Maybe. Or maybe not. The most important part is that I'm still going to do my job. Will you?"

Eames rolled his eyes. "As best as I can, darling. But if third-level Browning has an ear missing, don't bloody well blame me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"I'm happy we've established this," Eames said. He got to his feet, picking up his bag and jacket. "Anyone fancy sharing a taxi?"

In the end, everyone except Yusuf (who hadn't finished his dinner yet) agreed to share a taxi van to the hotel. They clambered in, Ariadne and Arthur in the front row and Micah and Eames in the back row. As soon as the taxi had joined the crazy L.A. traffic, Eames turned to Micah.

"What's your story?"

Micah started. "Huh?"

"Your story," Eames pressed. "How did Cobb and Arthur drag you into this? And how do you suppress your self-preservation instincts so well?"

"Um…" Micah thought it over. Eames kept his eyes on him, trying to ignore the sight of Arthur with his arm around Ariadne's shoulders, and the way she laid her head on his chest, her nose close to his neck and one of those faint pink marks. "I don't know. It's just… It's awesome."

Eames actually laughed. "Awesome is scoring the phone number of a beautiful girl. Awesome is not risking your life."

"Alright, so my priorities are a little skewed-"

"A little?" Eames asked incredulously. "Try aimless, sweetheart."

Micah sighed. "Look, I have my reasons for doing this. Can you respect that?"

Eames paused, surprised by Micah's forceful tone and tense expression. The whole air was reminding him of something… Or someone-

"My God," Eames whispered. "Arthur's gotten to you."

Arthur looked up, having heard his name. Micah frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The secrets, the avoiding of questions, the tone, that face… It's all classic Arthur. No one acts like that normally. They're either hardened by life or taught by a professional."

Micah frowned. "Why wouldn't I be, uh… hardened by life?"

"You're too innocent-looking," Eames explained. "Not as much as our little architect, but still."

"Really?" Ariadne muttered. Eames smiled at her.

"Don't take it to heart, love, you're much tougher and fiercer these days. I saw you in Mombasa."

"What about Mombasa?" Arthur asked, startled.

Eames ignored Arthur, turning back to Micah. "Look, kid. I know next-to-nothing about our friendly point man, but I do know this: he's been through hell. No idea when, or where, or why, or most importantly, who… But I do know he wasn't always like this. He's probably always been organized and uptight, but there's no way he was as relentless or stoic as he is now. Plus, I've never seen someone kill like he does." Eames was aware of Arthur's eyes digging holes into his back, but he persevered. "He's very cold and calculated when he does it. He can kill anyone with anything, including his bare hands. It's quite remarkable."

"Eames," Arthur said quietly. "What are you getting at?"

Eames shot Arthur a look and smiled, giving Micah the same smile. "I'm just curious. Micah, you needn't be as closed off as him."

Micah's certainty was shaken. "I don't know… Arthur seems to be doing okay…"

"Really? You think so?" Eames shrugged. "You're just as crazy as Cobb then, if you think a man who's haunted by his own girlfriend is doing fine."

"You're not doing yourself any favors, Eames," Arthur muttered.

Eames smirked and nodded at Micah. "I'm just saying. You could do to have a friend who can actually relate to you."

"But Arthur's already related to me," Micah said, bemused.

Eames shook his head. "The Harvard connection doesn't count. That's a basic fact."

"That's not what I meant. I was talking about-"

"Micah," Arthur's voice was loud as he interrupted. The student looked at Arthur and promptly turned bright red. Eames stared, entranced.

"Aha," he said softly. He shot Arthur an interested grin as the van stopped in front of the Kyoto Grand. He didn't get a chance to comment on this as they all climbed out, pausing for Ariadne and Eames to retrieve their bags from the trunk.

Eames hung back during the walk through the lobby, falling into step with Arthur and Ariadne while Micah walked ahead, his neck bright red.

"What is it you and the kid have in common?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because I'm fascinated, darling," Eames said. "You remember my reaction when I found out you've been dating our lovely architect for a year. I've never known you with one connection to other people, nonetheless two. Or more?"

"And I was just getting used to you again," Arthur grumbled.

They reached the elevator. Eames checked the key Cobb had given him, noticing that they were on different floors.

"That's a shame. No pajama parties then."

"How will I go on?" Arthur asked sarcastically.

Eames grinned, giddy. "Oh, I have hit a nerve. I love that about you, Arthur. You never fail to have a spirited reaction to things that are important to you." He clapped the younger man on the shoulder with enthusiasm. "And I will have good fun trying to extract this secret from our young protégé." He winked at Micah as they arrived at the student's floor. "Sweet dreams, Micah."

He laughed at the student's nervous expression.

**How'd you like Eames' point of view the second time around? And did you catch what his totem in this story is?**

**Review, please!**


	14. So In Love

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Sorry I dropped off the grid there... Long story and a boring one, but a message from lole17 convinced me to come back... this story was written a while ago so I don't really remember what happened/happens... Anyways, I'll try to keep posting it online.**

**Title from the Cole Porter song... I recommend the Ella Fitzgerald version.**

So In Love

Friday, October 7, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Kyoto Grand Hotel: Ariadne

The soft sunlight streaming in through the miniscule crack in the curtains was what woke Ariadne that morning.

Even though it was the ridiculous light and practically nonexistent glow of a mid-autumn sun, it was still a California morning, meaning the light was almost blinding to someone who was barely wakening from a night of sleep. Ariadne blinked for a few seconds, before pushing her head back on the pillows and rolling onto her back.

She looked at the ceiling for a moment, assessing how smooth and nice it was. She turned her head and evaluated her side of the room (the one by the window.) It was largely empty, her suitcase open and still pretty full except for the nicer outfits she'd hung in the closet to avoid creasing. The curtains were fluttering slightly, as the air circulated.

Ariadne yawned, and stretched her right arm out, searching, searching… After a moment of this she frowned and turned her head.

Arthur was not there.

He'd been there, certainly. The mattress was slightly dented, the sheets a little wrinkled. But the edge of the comforter was tucked, impeccably and pointedly, under the mattress. It was a perfect example of Arthur's almost OCD-like tendencies to leave order in his wake.

Ariadne looked at his empty space, confused. She glanced at the clock; it was only a little after 9:00, and she wasn't going to meet Eames until noon, when they would go to Browning's offices…

She realized, with a start, that she didn't know what Arthur's plans were for the day.

Ariadne rose slowly and slid out of the bed. Her feet sank several inches into the thick white carpet of the hotel room. She walked to her bag and rifled through it for a moment before procuring her favorite sweatshirt. It was white, with the words 'Montreal Canadiens' written across it. It had once been her older brother's, before he'd hit a growth spurt that left the sweatshirt resting halfway to his stomach. He'd quickly bequeathed it to Ariadne then.

She pulled the sweatshirt over her tank top and purple pajama pants and pulled on a pair of fluffy socks over her bare feet. She left the room then, walking while pulling her hair back into a manageable ponytail.

The hotel suite wasn't as obnoxious as others she'd seen. Aside from the master bedroom was a spare bedroom and additional bathroom, along with a kitchen and dining room. Ariadne went from room to room, glancing into them. When she entered the massive living room (couches, armchairs, hardwood tables and expensive entertainment system) she paused in the doorway, her eyes on the balcony it opened up to. The doors were closed, but through a window she could see the head and shoulders of a man sitting on the couch outside.

Ariadne frowned, but pressed forward, passing by the huge television and vase of flowers to the balcony French doors. She paused again, staring at Arthur through the glass. He was completely still, eyes focused on the view, which consisted of several small houses before opening up to a gorgeous panorama of the Pacific Ocean.

She pushed the door open, emerging into the warm sunlight. Ariadne's eyes closed for a moment, adjusting, before she managed to open them again. Arthur still hadn't looked up, and he didn't even after she closed the door and sank down onto the other end of the couch.

It wasn't very big—just an average sized outdoor couch, whicker and cushions—but the distance seemed to stretch on and on. Arthur was dressed as casually as Ariadne, in a plain white t-shirt and dark gray pajama pants. His bare feet were flat on the balcony floor, his face in his hands, his eyes on the horizon. Ariadne curled up, watching him, and criss-crossed her legs.

The silence seemed to stretch on and on. Ariadne glanced at the view, which was admittedly beautiful, but didn't seem like something that could naturally hold Arthur's attention for so long, especially when (and this wasn't just her ego talking) she was in the vicinity. She cleared her throat.

"How long have you been awake?"

Arthur sighed. "Depends. What time is it?"

"Nine, a little after."

"Hm." He sighed again but straightened, resting his back on the back of the couch. He finally turned to look at her, and her eyes widened at his face. There were shadowy bags under his eyes, his face was unshaven and his eyes were dark and tired. He looked worse than he had in the airport.

He shrugged. "A while."

"Did you sleep at all?" Ariadne demanded.

"Of course," he said. "I fell asleep with you, remember? I'm pretty sure I was out first."

She nodded. "And then what? You woke up half an hour later?"

"I wasn't the one who flew halfway around the world in a short series of flights."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't be tired," Ariadne replied.

"Oh, I'm tired all right," Arthur said. He wasn't looking at her again, his gaze once more focused on the view beyond. His hair was ruffled, fluffy and natural. It never failed to make her give him a double-take whenever she saw it so common-looking.

Ariadne bit her lip. "Arthur, why can't you sleep?"

"Don't worry about it, Ari."

"Arthur…" Ariadne let her voice trail off as Arthur moved, swinging his legs up and mirroring her own stance. He reached forward and took hold of her ankles, rubbing his thumbs in concentric circles.

"Ari," he said quietly. "Please don't waste your time worrying about me."

She scowled, her warm and relaxed mood evaporating swiftly in the sun. "You're still stressed about her, aren't you? The projection of me?"

It was Arthur's turn to sigh. His hands stopped, but he kept them wrapped around her ankles. "Yes."

"So that conversation we had-"

"-Was still important," Arthur said, cutting her off. "Don't doubt that. I'm enormously relieved we had it, because we need to be honest with each other." He hesitated, as if reconsidering that sentence. "But this is something I need to work through."

She raised her eyebrows, catching on to the important thing Arthur had missed in that sentence. "Work through… by yourself."

"Yes."

Ariadne's frown increased. "You don't think I can help?"

"I think your help would be… counter-productive. I need to…" He paused again, before continuing, his voice harder and his words faster. "I need to do this on my own. This is my issue; not yours. Nothing will change if I'm still leaning on you."

"I don't know…" Ariadne could see his logic, but she wasn't sure she liked it. There must've been a better way to go about this. "Maybe I could come into the dream with you next time. Maybe it'd be better if I was there-"

"No." Arthur's voice was firm. He raised his eyes to her, the auburn irises serious. "I'm sorry, Ari. But I would be distracted, I wouldn't see her coming, and plus, if she… succeeded again… I wouldn't want you to see that."

"I can handle it-"

"I know you can." Again, he cut her off with a steely tone. "But I still don't want your help. Thanks for the offer though."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Arthur's hands felt cold around her ankles, completely unlike the way his hands normally felt. Ariadne's mind was a whirl, searching for something to say, something that would change Arthur's mind. But when he decided on something, he was immovable. No number of arguments from her would do the slightest bit of impact.

"I'm meeting Cobb for breakfast," Arthur said suddenly. He let her go and got to his feet in the next moment, his form blocking the sun for a moment. He leaned down and kissed her cheek lightly, his lips barely brushing her face. "I'm going to shower and change, and then I'll go."

"Okay," Ariadne said softly. But he was already gone.

She frowned, pulling her knees up and hugging them to her chest as she looked out at the view again. She'd known this job would be a challenge to their relationship the moment she'd entered the apartment and see Cobb pointing a gun at Arthur's head. But she'd assumed the challenge would be the part of working together. She hadn't thought that it would be the lack of honesty.

He's always so honest, she thought to herself. With me, but also with the team. So why is he keeping me out now?

She knew why he was stressed and even scared over the projection. Heaven knew she'd been terrified upon realizing that Eames' was right in that Arthur knowing the layouts would only decrease Arthur's odds of surviving the job. She understood that. But if Arthur really expected to get past this, then why didn't he utilize the help of everyone around him?

But Ariadne knew Arthur, and she knew that he always tried to work through personal issues on his own. She wasn't entirely sure why he was that way; he had an identical twin brother, after all. All evidence suggested that he should be the opposite of an introverted worker. But with everything that'd happened during his teenage years…

Ariadne's stomach growled and she tore herself away from her inner turmoil and got to her feet. Once back inside, she called room service, ordering the most expensive breakfast she could, as Cobb would be paying for it. She sank onto the couch and turned on a familiar American morning television program.

She had only just started spreading jam over her croissant when the door to the bedroom opened and Arthur strode out, flawless and immaculate in a navy blue suit, jacket in hand. Ariadne was rewarded with a small smile when he noticed the pile of food she was working through.

"Hungry, were we?" He asked, pausing by the hallway mirror to check his hair.

"Considering I'm not paying for any of it, yes," Ariadne replied. "Want anything?"

His reflection looked deeply amused. He turned and walked over to her, sitting on the table and helping himself to her coffee. She licked the spoon she'd used to scoop jam when he set down the mug.

"Mm, that's good," he commented. "Indonesia?"

"How'd you know?"

He smirked. "I've been there once or twice."

She laughed. "No, you're just a coffee maniac."

"You might be on to something, yes." He appraised the coffee for one more moment and then stood. "I'll see you later."

"Wait," Ariadne said, doing her best to not make her cry sound like a whine. She ended up with a weird combination of casual and bravado. Arthur looked at her, his jacket still in his hand and halfway to his shoulder.  
She gave him her best and most flirtatious smile. "Quick, give me a kiss."

It worked just like she'd hoped it would. He returned her smile with a grin of his own, swooping down and placing his hands on her face, giving her the exact searing kiss she'd been wanting all morning. She smiled against his mouth, wrapping her hands under his biceps and pulling him down onto the couch with her. He let go of her face, catching himself by placing his hands on the couch on either side of her head, his body hovering over hers.

But there was something different in his kiss, something unusual that she wasn't sure she'd ever encountered with him before. It wasn't just the passionate desire (it seemed like every kiss had that); there was something else. Something like urgency and ferocity. He seemed frantic as he kissed her, pushing her farther into the couch, his jacket dropping over her at some point.

"Arthur," she whispered, pulling her lips from his. He didn't stop, only moved his mouth along her cheek, to the skin underneath her ear. She swallowed once but continued with her question; she needed to verify her guess as to what Arthur was thinking. "Do you feel like we're running out of time?"

That made him freeze. He sat up slowly, kneeling over her knees. She followed his lead and sat up, studying his face, his slightly red lips open in surprise.

"I…" He paused. "I have to go." Without another word, or answer, he leaned forward and kissed her fleetingly, like he had during their very first kiss, away in a dream. He climbed off the couch, taking his jacket with him. He picked up his bag near the door and tossed it on his shoulder.

Ariadne felt empty. "Arthur?"

He paused, hand on the door handle. His back was to her, so she couldn't see his expression, but she spoke anyway. "Be careful."

He was utterly still. She was dying to see his face, but he refused to turn. Instead his voice was arrestingly monotonous in his single-word answer. "Always."

And then he was gone, just like that.

Ariadne frowned and looked at her breakfast, suddenly no longer hungry.

**Sorry it's short, I'll post another tomorrow... thanks**


	15. Another Way To Die

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Thanks to Shanynde, Lazarus76, Beaufale and the faithful Iole17 for reviewing, along to the others who favorited/started following. It's touching to see there's still some interest in this fic. I'll keep posting it when I can.**

**Title from the Jack White & Alicia Keys song for "Quantum of Solace"... fun fact: Adele is singing the theme for the new Bond movie in November.**

Another Way To Die

Friday, October 7, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Kyoto Grand Hotel: Ariadne

Ariadne had mostly recovered from Arthur's impassive departure by the time she entered the hotel lobby a couple hours later. She walked across the marble floor, her heels tapping a light beat. She had dressed formally for the meeting, in long gray slacks and a cranberry red short-sleeve sweater. Even though her mind was repeating a mantra along the lines of 'move on, everything is okay', Arthur's words (or lack thereof) still weighed with her; around her neck was one of the many scarves he'd given her. It was off-white lace, and one of her all-time favorites.

She found Eames at the bar, making his way through a mimosa and a blue cheese salad. She hovered by his stool while he watched a football game.

"…Get him, _get him_, he's right in front of you!" Eames grumbled and turned his head, spotting the architect standing by his shoulder. "There you are, love. Take a seat."

Ariadne raised an eyebrow. "Edward, we have to get going…"

"No, we've got time. Come on. Mimosa?"

"No, thank you." But she did sit, hopping up on a black leather chair next to his. The bartender strolled over and Ariadne asked for water while Eames continued to scrutinize the game. She had to comment.

"I didn't know you were into American football."

He shook his head. "I'm not, really. Besides, this is college-level." He turned to her. "Did Arthur play for Harvard?"

She almost laughed. "No. That's hardly the type of thing he'd be into."

"An ever-growing list, the things Arthur is into. Starting and possibly ending with-"

"Please don't say it," Ariadne winced, closing her eyes.

Eames chuckled loudly. "Oh, I see where you're going with that, my dear. Believe it or not, I was going to say 'dreaming,' but I like your train of thought, though I am surprised at the suggestion."

"Edward," she mumbled. "Can we please get this over with?"

"Anxious to return to your stick-in-the-mud? Or should I say your-"

"Edward."

He laughed again but didn't finish the sentence, only got to his feet and pulled out his wallet. She exited the bar while he left some cash on the counter, tapping her feet as she waited. Eames reached her and they walked outside.

"I must say, you look even lovelier than normal today, Ariadne," he commented.

She smirked. "Thanks. I figured I should make a good impression."

"Have everything you need?"

"Notebook, pencils, camera…" She ran her hand over her bag as she spoke. "I think that's everything. Where are we meeting Browning, exactly?"

"Fischer-Morrow is based in two places in the world: Sydney (the Morrow part) and Los Angeles (the Fischer part.) We're going to their headquarters here." Eames put a hand on her back and guided her to a four-door taxi waiting in the valet area. Ariadne got in first, sliding across the seat to make room for Eames. He calmly described the address to the driver, who nodded and pulled into the L.A. traffic.

Noon in Los Angeles was insane, but there was also a certain amount of entertainment with it, which only made sense considering the city. Ariadne looked out the window as the taxi zoomed in and around cars, horns blaring on either side.

Ariadne had only been to L.A. once before, a year before, after the Fischer job. She'd spent a total of two days in the city, wandering with Arthur while she waited for her flight back to Paris. Those two days had been amazing, and she still had yet to ascertain whether it was the city or Arthur that had made it so. Maybe it was a perfect combination. There was some great architecture in the city, after all.

"Browning knows I'm coming as well?" She wondered aloud.

"I think so," Eames said. "Cobb's really the one who organized this whole thing, but I can't imagine him leaving out that detail." He paused. "I guess the nice thing this time around is that no one will question you taking pictures and doodling in that notebook of yours. Hell, Browning would probably be concerned if you didn't."  
Ariadne pursed her lips in thought, turning back to the window.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of an elegant skyscraper just South of the city's Financial District. Eames passed the fare and got out with Ariadne, who was gazing at the building in appreciation.

"What's the verdict?" He asked.

She smiled. "It's really nice. Quite the unique look."

"That's the mark of a successful business then, isn't it?" He held out his arm and she took it, walking with him across the courtyard and into the building.

The lobby was completely modern, all leather and dark red wood. Ariadne studied the abstract steel artwork that dominated the lobby for a moment, letting Eames check them in at the front desk. She was surprised when an elevator opened and a man in a dark suit smiled at them.

"Mr. Browning's expecting you," was all the suited man said. Ariadne shot a look at Eames but he simply took it in stride, following the man through the door to the row of elevators in the back.

He pressed the button to the thirty-second floor, at the top of the building. "Mr. Browning will meet with you in his private office. Is there anything I can get you, Mr.…"

"Eames," Eames finished. "Edward Eames. And I would like a cup of black tea, please."

The man turned to Ariadne and she cleared her throat, doing her best to retain her professional façade, and not come across as the awkward student she really was. "Ariadne Chopin. Water's fine."

"Very well," the man said. The elevator beeped, signaling their arrival. The doors opened and the man led them past a receptionist's desk manned by a rather voluptuous redhead (Eames looked back) and on past several tinted glass-walled offices. They reached a large set of double-doors at the end of the hallway. Ariadne noticed the nameplate: Peter Browning, Deputy CEO.

The man didn't even knock; instead, he pushed the doors open.

The office was just as Ariadne had expected. Glass walls ran around the room, looking out into the Financial District, a sea of skyscrapers. The floor was white carpet, the doors framed by small wooden tables. There was even a fish tank on the side of the room, with several colorful tropical fish swimming merrily. There were two heavy-looking armchairs in front of a massive black desk, with a large black armchair, in which sat-

"Mr. Browning," the suited man said. "May I present Mr. Edward Eames and Ms. Ariadne Chopin?"

Browning smiled widely, getting to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket as he strode forward, the epitome of poise and professionalism. Eames, wearing his own hearty grin, met him halfway. They shook hands.

"We've met before," Browning said. To the suited man, he added, "You may leave, Mark."

Mark nodded and turned to Ariadne and Eames. "I'll be back with your drinks." He left, the door snapping shut.

"It's… Unsettling, I guess is the word, to see you again," Browning continued, studying Eames like he was sizing him up. "What exactly is your role, Mr. Eames?"

Everyone present knew exactly what Browning meant, and Eames wisely chose not to play dumb. "They call me a forger. Kind of a high-ranking thief."

"You were the one who impersonated me."

Browning's voice was still friendly, but Ariadne could sense the malice under it. Eames remained pleasant, simply smiling even more.

"I did," he confirmed. "Maybe you'd like to see my work sometime."

"I'd be delighted." Ariadne wasn't sure about delighted, but Browning's tone said he would most definitely be seeing Eames' perfect imitation of him. She straightened as Browning turned to her. He looked pleasantly surprised.

"And I haven't met you," he said, taking Ariadne's hand lightly. She remained still, smiling back. "Ms. Chopin, was it?"

"That's correct, Mr. Browning."

"Please, don't tell me you're a petty thief. You're far too exquisite for such a low role."

Ariadne almost blushed, taken off-guard by how charming Browning was behaving. "I'm not. I'm the architect."

"Oho," Browning said merrily. "You design the dreams."

"That's right."

"Well, I'm very excited to see your work," Browning said warmly. As he spoke, the door opened again and Mark returned, carrying a tray. Browning waved them forward; Ariadne and Eames sank into the two chairs in front of his seat while Mark procured a table seemingly out of nowhere to put the tray on. There was a real teapot, complete with three delicate teacups, and small containers of actual cream and thick sugar, along with Ariadne's tall glass of water.

"Would you like anything else?" Mark asked.

"We're fine, thank you," Browning said swiftly before Ariadne or Eames could speak. "That'll be all." Mark nodded once and left, closing the door with a snap.

Browning wasted no time, and wasn't one to dwell on pleasantries. He leaned forward across his desk, hands folded. Ariadne remained perfectly still, though Eames looked relaxed as he fixed his cup of tea.

"Mr. Cobb has told me the general plan," Browning continued. "Mr. Eames, he said you would need my assistance… to re-create Maurice?"

"Mm, yes," Eames said distantly, gently setting down his spoon and taking a sip of tea. "That's lovely. Yes, Mr. Browning, I need everything visual you can get me on Mr. Fischer. Videos of him speaking, interacting with others. Naturally, I am also deeply interested in anything pertaining to how he raised his son."

Browning seemed to twitch involuntarily. Ariadne couldn't blame him; it was just another reminder that Browning was prepared to betray his godson, who undoubtedly saw him as a father figure now.

"Of course," he said. He pulled open a drawer on his desk, revealing a huge stack of files, which he hefted onto the surface. Eames set down his tea and took the files, flicking one open at random. Ariadne spotted a DVD, with the words 'Telecom International Conference' scribbled on top.

"That's everything I have," Browning said. "Mr. Cobb told me what you were looking for and I had Mark dredge up all he could find. As mementos, naturally."

"Naturally," Eames murmured.

"I've also got these for you, Ms. Chopin," Browning said, passing to her a smaller file, stuffed with photos. She pulled out a couple at random, revealing shots of a massive Malibu home. "Maurice's parents' old house which Robert visited as a boy, the house Robert grew up in and adjoining vacation homes in the Caribbean and overseas cities like Paris, Madrid and London…"

Browning paused suddenly, looking at Eames with interest. "I know this has nothing to do with anything… But you're a Brit."

"Indeed."

"From which part?"

"Manchester," Eames said without hesitation. Ariadne watched him, wondering if he was telling the truth or not. It was always impossible to know for sure with Eames. "I attended Oxford for university."

Browning was interested. "Major?"

"Double. History and Psychology." Eames paused and anticipated Browning's (not to mention Ariadne's) next question. "To do what I do… You have to have a thorough understanding of people and cultures. My two majors have been indispensable in helping me with that."

Browning nodded. "Makes sense." He turned to Ariadne. "What can you tell me about yourself, Ms. Chopin?"

Before she could speak, Eames interrupted. "Pardon me, Mr. Browning… But why are you asking us this?"

"I try to do my research on the people I hire," Browning replied calmly. "Especially when I associate with known criminals."

"But why ask us? I'm certain your researchers could've found out that I grew up in Manchester and attended Oxford."

Browning smiled. "Correct, Mr. Eames. See, I'm a man of the idea that the best way to get to know people and earn their trust… Is simply by talking to them. Business is as business does."

Eames chuckled. "Very well then." He nodded at Ariadne.

"I grew up in Montreal," she said calmly, aware that both men were watching her. Was this news to Eames as well? Probably, since she couldn't imagine Cobb or Arthur deciding that discussing her birthplace was crucial to last year's job… "I'm a graduate student at the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris."

Browning's eyebrows shot up. "Paris? Well, I'm impressed. You'll have quite the résumé for graduation."

"Mr. Browning," Ariadne said quickly. "If your researchers are looking at the people you hired… Does that include our entire team?"

"Yes, I believe so," Browning said. He turned to the thin computer on his desk, opening a file and turning the screen so Eames and Ariadne could see as well. Ariadne almost jumped at the sight of Yusuf's face. "Maybe it's best to show you what we have so far, so you can confirm…"

Browning studied the screen for a moment, clicking on a document. Ariadne found herself looking at a brief synopsis of Yusuf's life. "Yusuf Muthui, 42, of Mombasa, Kenya. He runs a small underground pharmacy where he creates unique sedatives to send people dreaming for hours at a time, occasions they pay a premium for. Holds a degree in Chemistry from Mithibai College in Mumbai."

He clicked a new screen, and Micah's face appeared. The file was obviously the newest. "We only found out about him yesterday," Browning said, ignoring Eames and Ariadne's stunned expressions. "Micah Harper, 23, originally from Houston, Texas. He graduated from Cornell University with a degree in Psychology last May and is now attending Harvard University, studying for his Master's in Psychology. He's expressed an interest to his professors in going into Clinical Psychology to study disorders, with a particular focus on PTSD."

A new screen, Cobb with two children—Ariadne assumed they were his—in a park. "Dominic Cobb, 35, originally from Chicago, Illinois. Mr. Cobb attended your current school, Ms. Chopin," Browning said, nodding at Ariadne, whose throat was oddly dry. "Where he met Stephen Miles, a leading pioneer in dream sharing and also Mr. Miles' daughter, Mallorie, though she attended a local French university at the time. Mr. Cobb married Mallorie Miles in 2003, with a daughter, Philippa, born in 2004, and a son, James, born in 2006. Mallorie died under mysterious circumstances in 2008; the authorities suspected Mr. Cobb, who fled the country in response. He was exonerated a year ago and has been living with his children in his San Francisco home ever since."

"Well done," Eames murmured. But Ariadne was frozen, as the screen shifted…

…To a photo of Arthur walking down a busy city street, dressed in his normal suit and completely oblivious to whomever had taken the photo. For the first time, Browning looked disgruntled.

"And then we have the most enigmatic one," he muttered.

"Don't worry about it," Eames said lightly. "I've known the man for years, and I still don't understand him."

Ariadne swallowed. "What do you know?"

"Cobb called him Arthur Zaleski," Browning said, opening a series of files. "But he's lived under dozens of different names, including Arthur Thorne, Arthur Collins, Arthur Beckett, Arthur Jacobi, Arthur Holtz, Arthur Lattner, among others. But an Arthur Zaleski attended Harvard University and graduated in 2002, which is odd, because he'd been at the school for five years, which seems unlikely considering Mr. Zaleski entered the school at age sixteen, according to an article from the Harvard newspaper, where Mr. Zaleski mentions he is one of the youngest members of the freshman class. What's really most odd is how Mr. Zaleski's course work virtually vanished in the fall of 2000, reappearing over half a year later. It's almost like he fell off the face of the Earth…"

Browning trailed off, studying Ariadne and Eames. Eames shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Eames said.

"I doubt that, Mr. Eames," Browning said. "My researchers are among the world's elite. Mr. Cobb has assured me that as a skilled researcher, Mr. Zaleski can cover his tracks well. But this is impossibly well. Someone else has hidden that part of his life for him."

Eames looked deeply interested. "Do you have a hypothesis?"

"Either Mr. Zaleski has family in the U.S. government, or… The U.S. government is interested in keeping his existence as much of a secret as possible."

"He is a very odd fellow," Eames said lightly.

Browning's eyes turned from Eames' to Ariadne. She felt like she was being scrutinized, studied under a microscope…

"And you don't know anything about this, Ms. Chopin?"

Was lying possible? Was it worth it? Ariadne wasn't sure about either, but Browning was creeping her out like nobody's business. It was pretty incredible that his researchers had already unearthed so much about Arthur…

She kept her face casually interested, a poor mimic of Eames'. "No. But I'm interested in hearing what you find out."

"I'll keep you posted, Ms. Chopin." Browning looked disappointed. He sighed and closed down the file, Arthur's picture vanishing from the screen. He leaned back in his chair.

Ariadne felt something flutter into her lap. She looked down and noticed a small slip of paper, with Eames' messy scrawl: _Arthur's real surname is Zaleski._

She looked up. Eames was watching her, waiting for her confirmation or denial… With a short glance to make sure Browning had missed the exchange, she nodded once. Eames sighed, and sat back in his chair, taking a sip of tea.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Browning had opened a notebook, seemingly to take notes. He smiled at them, equal parts warm and equal parts malicious.

"What shall we discuss first? Maurice or Robert's childhood?"

**So I lost my list of dates (like past dates, not present) for this story... It shouldn't be too critical a mistake, as the specific times aren't as important as the general gist of what happened. If I notice a blaring error I'll change it, but otherwise, bear with me please.**

**Oh and review, if the desire should visit you.**


	16. Citizen Erased

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**In a review, a Guest asked if I know where the story is going: This story is completely finished. I wrote the whole thing months ago, long before I started posting it on here. So you will get an ending, and I believe everything will be resolved, because I've been re-reading it and making sure all the blanks are filled in. Just bear with me. If you're confused now, it will be cleared up later.**

**This chapter used to have a different title, but in the Great Computer Mix-Up of 2012, I lost it, so this is from the song by Muse.**

**Have we had a Micah POV yet? No?... Here we go.**

Citizen Erased

Friday, October 7, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Warehouse: Micah

Micah double-checked the address before climbing out of the taxi. He was standing in front of what could only be described as an eyesore. The warehouse was gray, made out of tin and nails, and rusted at the edges like a toy house. There were no ground level windows, though he could see skylights in the roof.

The taxi he'd taken pulled away with a screech, leaving Micah on the dusty road by the highway. Cars whizzed back, cars that Micah viewed as sketchy, cars he imagined wealthy and real gangsters drove. Of course the place was in the heart of one of L.A.'s ghetto neighborhoods.

A small group of gang members in the distance convinced Micah to get inside. Fast.

He hurried to the door, realizing too late no one had given him a key. He adjusted his backpack and settled for pounding on what he guessed was the door, all the while casting nervous looks at the men behind him, who were slowly starting to walk towards him.

"Come on, come on," Micah muttered.

Just a few seconds later, and he heard a resounding clank. Micah jumped back as the door was pulled to the side, rather than being pushed or pulled.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Peachy," Micah mumbled, shoving past Arthur to walk inside. He kept walking, even though Arthur was still in the doorway, scrutinizing the men in the distance.

"We'll keep an eye on them," he promised Micah.

Micah had stopped a few yards inside the warehouse, his jaw dropped as he surveyed the scene.

It was pretty empty; Micah guessed it had housed some sort of fishery before, given its proximity to the beach and ocean. There were a couple desks around the room, a few whiteboards and piles of sketchpads. Several battered beach chairs were placed in a small circle in the center of the room, surrounding an antique coffee table, upon which rested the silver briefcase.

"What is this?" Micah wondered.

"Your new home," Arthur commented, coming up from behind Micah. He turned smoothly and faced the younger man, putting his hands in his pants pockets. "If you're not at the hotel, you're here. When we get closer to deadline you'll be here twenty-four/seven."

Micah made a face. "It's not much in the way of aesthetics…"

Arthur chuckled. "Well, if you'd like, feel free to spruce up the place." He turned around without waiting for a response, strolling over to the circle of beach chairs. He knelt down by the briefcase and opened it, only to glance over his shoulder and realize Micah had not moved. He nodded at the chair nearest him. "Take a seat, Micah."

Hesitantly, Micah did, sitting in a faded green beach chair. "Arthur, if you don't mind… Where's Cobb?"

Arthur looked amused. "You'd rather go under with him than me?"

Micah flushed. "Not exactly… Well, okay. I just mean that Dom took me under the first time, and he was really good at explaining things…" He trailed off. He was lying, but either Arthur didn't know or he chose to ignore that.

"Cobb is with Yusuf," Arthur explained, focused on the task at hand. Micah studied Arthur's hands, as the older man adjusted the levels. "They're trying to track down a certain chemical for the sedative. People like selling to Cobb over Yusuf." He looked up, meeting Micah's bemused look. "People are rather wary of Yusuf's immigration status. Yusuf is a Kenyan."

"Oh." Micah felt silly. "I get that. Well, I mean, I don't personally get that. But growing up, I've heard things…"

"Then you understand," Arthur murmured. "And don't worry, I don't think you're a racist."

"Good. Because I'm not."

Arthur smiled again. "I believe you." He pivoted on his knees, tube in hand, and looked at Micah seriously.

"We'll be going into my dream this afternoon," he told the younger man. "And I'll be assessing what you know about fighting. If we have time, we'll work on using a gun, which you also have a background in. Depending on how things go, you may or may not require further teaching."

Micah nodded. "Okay. I'm ready."

"Stay still." Micah watched with some anxiety as Arthur carefully slid the needle into his vein. He kept his breathing even, studying the ceiling and skylights while Arthur copied him, inserting his own needle. He closed his eyes as Arthur pushed the plunger down.

When he opened them, he was standing on a large sport court, all gray cement and surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. He looked around, moving in a small circle. It was unlike any sport court he'd ever been in, as it seemed to be on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a murky gray ocean.

"I'm not much in the way of creativity, as Eames will repeatedly tell you."

Micah spun around. Arthur was standing behind him, looking ridiculously serious in dark jeans and a black sweater. Micah looked down and noticed he was dressed similarly, but in light jeans and a white t-shirt. They looked like polar opposites, especially since Arthur's hair was pristinely straight and gelled, while Micah's was still fluffy despite his attempts to tame it.

Polar opposites.

"This place is weird," he commented, looking up. He couldn't see a sun anywhere, but it had to be there, right?

"I spent a lot of time at sport courts and the YMCA when I was a kid," Arthur explained, looking around. Now that his eyes had adjusted, Micah could see they weren't completely alone. There were dozens of kids and teenagers milling around, playing basketball and tag on a playground nearby. Micah couldn't help but feel a little relieved that he wasn't stuck with just Arthur in the middle of nowhere.

He nodded at the kids. "Are those your projections?"

"Not unless you've brought them into the dream."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't," Micah said slowly. Arthur watched him for a moment before shrugging.

"Do you have your totem?"

Micah nodded, and fished the totem from his pocket. He held it in his palm, and Arthur leaned over to look at it. It was a forest green compass, the lines neat and letters capitalized. He smiled as the needle spun wildly, pointing in every direction except a single one.

"Very good," Arthur said in approval. "Personal and small. Exactly." He smiled at Micah for a moment. "Alright. Let's get started, shall we?" He pulled his hands from his pockets but kept them at his sides. "Hit me."

Micah gaped at him. "What?"

A beat passed. Arthur's expression remained the same. "Hit me."

"Hit you? This isn't fight club." Arthur grinned as Micah continued, flustered. "I can't hit you…"

"Why not?"

Micah's mouth opened and closed. "Because… Because you haven't done anything to me. I don't hit people who are innocent of any wrong-doing."

Arthur looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? Micah, have you been paying any attention to the things Cobb has told you? The things he said about me yesterday?" At Micah's look, he clarified, "Ariadne. Her projection will kill me."

"So?"

"So," Arthur continued. "I have to learn to kill her first."

Micah felt a chill run down his back. "You're saying… I have to prepare myself to kill people I know. People I love. People I don't even know…"

"Exactly," Arthur confirmed. "It's the hardest lesson you'll have to learn. Tell me, Micah. Who do you care for the most in this world?"

Micah's mind raced. Unlike Arthur, he didn't have a girlfriend he adored and would die for. He thought of his family and his friends, their faces running through his mind…

"My siblings," he decided. "Ben and Beth."

"It's a start," Arthur agreed. "I suppose that might be your strongest relationships. You are pretty young…"

Micah felt a twinge of annoyance, and bit back the retort he was dying to throw in Arthur's face. He needed to concentrate now.

"I'm not as good as Eames, but since you don't know the calling cards of a poor forgery in the dream world, I'll do," Arthur said in thought. Micah wondered if he knew he was talking aloud. He raised his eyes to Micah's.

"When we get back, give me your favorite photo of them. It'll be easier for me, obviously, to forge Ben but I could make a passable Beth as well."

Micah stared. "You're going to… change into them?"

"Basically, yes. And then you'll have to learn to kill them."

"Jesus," Micah grumbled. He looked away, studying the ocean. Arthur gave him a moment before he continued.

"Attacking me will be easier than all of that," he murmured. "Because we're only connected as colleagues. No friendship, no familial relation… None of that. So hit me."

Micah kept his face turned away from Arthur. A moment passed. And then he spun into action, twisting with his fist raised-

And suddenly, Arthur wasn't there anymore.

Micah looked around and realized too late that the point man had simply ducked, dodging Micah's punch with atypical skill. Micah barely had a moment to recover before Arthur was there, his own hand slamming into the side of Micah's face. Micah stumbled, clutching his cheek when he felt arms wrap around his neck, constraining…

"You see my point."

Micah tumbled to the ground when Arthur dropped him, landing on four limbs and gasping desperately.

"Shit," he gagged, coughing. "You can fight."

From above him, Arthur grinned. "Military, remember?"

"Yeah," Micah said. Arthur held out a hand and Micah seized it, allowing him to be pulled to his feet. Micah rubbed a hand over his jaw, wincing.

"You were too obvious," Arthur explained. "Even with the sneak move, I saw you coming a mile away. Even if I were a projection—which are typically slower thinkers than humans—you would be killed very quickly. Or slowly, depending on how many projections were mauling you."

Micah swallowed at the imagery. "How likely is that?"

"It happens, that's all I'll say."

"To you?"

Arthur studied him for a moment, and Micah was once again reminded of how much of a beginner he was in this, compared to the point man. Even though they were seven years apart in physical age, at that moment, it might as well have been twenty years.

"Once," Arthur said quietly. "It was… Deeply unpleasant."

Micah nodded, sensing Arthur's unwillingness to delve into the topic. "How should I be approaching a fight, then? All I really know is karate."

"Well, that's definitely better than nothing."

Over the next hour, Arthur put Micah through his paces, watching the younger man demonstrate advanced martial arts skills and teaching him how to use them in a street fight. Micah was sweating wildly (which he hadn't known was possible in a dream) while Arthur looked pretty much the same, not a hair out of place.

"Micah," Arthur asked at some point, releasing Micah from a headlock. "Why did you take up karate?"

Micah rubbed his neck, wincing. "It was my mom's idea, actually. I was getting bullied at school, and I couldn't fight back. She put me into karate classes in the hopes I would learn to defend myself, or at least intimidate the bullies."

"Did it work?"

Micah remembered the expressions on Tommy Maxwell and Terry Korn's faces when he whipped out his skills after earning his red belt. "Absolutely. I have a black belt now, matter of fact."

Later on, after a particularly brutal skirmish (where Arthur had gotten the upper hand, but it'd been close; or so Micah kept telling himself) they broke apart, breathing hard.

Micah nodded at Arthur's head. "What's with your hair?"

"What about it?" Arthur asked, bemused.

"Every time I see you, it looks like that, all gelled and flat," Micah explained haltingly as he caught his breath. "Why do you do that? Can't be good for it."

Arthur shrugged. "My father used to style his hair like this. Everyone always took him so seriously; he was an intimidating man. So when I started working as a point man, I knew I had to be as threatening and significant as he was. I copied his look."

Micah stilled, catching Arthur's words. "Past tense… Arthur, your dad… is he-"

"Dead?" Arthur finished. Micah blinked, and Arthur nodded. "Yes, he is. He died when I was seven."

"Shit, man," Micah said solemnly. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago, I've recovered." But to Micah, it seemed like hadn't as he abruptly changed the subject.

"You've been doing really well, Micah," he told the student. "But you've been losing steam. How about we move on to something else?" Micah stared as Arthur pulled a gun from his belt, passing it to Micah with a smile.

Micah hesitated. "Won't the projections see?"

"Probably. But as long as you don't point it at me, they won't react. Stay casual and I'll do the same."

Micah nodded, holding the gun in his hands. Arthur pointed at the basketball hoop at the other end of the court. "Shoot the backboard."

Bang.

The bullet exploded out of the end of the gun, spiraling in the distance. Micah watched, with satisfaction, as it embedded itself in the center of the backboard.

Arthur's eyebrows rose, and he looked at Micah. "That was an excellent shot."

"Thanks, Arthur."

"There." Arthur pointed to a sign warning people to keep dogs off the court. Micah wondered wildly if that sign was a way of Arthur's subconscious saying that Arthur did not like dogs. "Straight through the 'o' in 'dogs.'"

It was capitalized, but still far away. Micah raised the gun to his face, studying down the barrel. He wasn't used to shooting with a handgun, having used rifles for hunting in Texas. But it wasn't all that different. He leveled the nozzle, released the safety and…

Bang.

A small round hole broke through the 'o.' Micah whooped in glee.

"Look at that!" He exclaimed, overwhelmingly pleased. "Right through! Damn, that was a shot! Arthur!" He turned but stilled.

Arthur was no longer looking at him. Instead, the point man was turned, his eyes frozen on the person marching towards them. Micah frowned, looking around. All the other projections were ignorant of them, kids running around and having fun and adults watching them with warm smiles. Micah turned back to the figure, who was moving swiftly. So why—

He turned to stone like Arthur when he recognized her. It was Ariadne.

And she was holding a gun.

"Arthur," Micah whispered desperately. "Arthur, here." He held out the gun, pressing it into the point man's hands. Arthur remained utterly still, ignoring the proffered metal. Micah grew more anxious and raised his voice. "Arthur, she isn't real."

"Right," Arthur murmured. He sounded distant. "Right…"

Micah nodded. But why wasn't Arthur taking the gun?

"Arthur…" Ariadne's voice was cream and roses, both more beautiful and more lethal than the real Ariadne's voice. She was close now, the gun resting at her side. She mostly ignored Micah, focusing on Arthur. "Arthur, my love…"

"She's not real!" Micah cried. "Arthur, she's not real!"

"Who are you to say?" Ariadne asked, turning to him. Micah swallowed nervously and fumbled for his totem.  
Too late, Ariadne raised the gun. Micah responded, lifting his own. They faced each other in a standoff.

"Arthur," Micah hissed. "Arthur…"

"Arthur," Ariadne murmured seductively. Arthur's eyes were glued to her. Micah realized then, that he was in this alone. His survival depended on his own instincts and actions.

But he was still shocked when Arthur revealed his own gun, retrieved seemingly from nowhere. Arthur's face was stone as he leveled the gun at Ariadne.

She stared, surprised. "Arthur, what are you doing?"

"You're not real." Micah breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Arthur's voice, as serious and neutral as it always was. "You're my projection."

"How can you know for sure?" Ariadne asked.

"This." Arthur reached into his pocket and withdrew a red dice. Micah looked at it, and realized it must have been Arthur's totem. He watched as the point man tossed the dice; four white dots looked skyward and Arthur exhaled in relief. "There. This is a dream. The real Ariadne would never behave like this."

She moved, bringing the gun around to face Arthur. Micah watched, his gun falling to his side as the two lovers pointed guns at each other. Arthur's face was empty, but Ariadne's was adoring.

"What would you do for me, my love?" She asked, her voice like silk. "Would you injure for me? Kill for me?" She lowered her voice. "Die for me?"

"For the real Ariadne, yes," Arthur murmured.

"But not for me," Projection-Ariadne said in conclusion. "What if…" She shifted, and pointed the gun to her own head. Arthur's hand stretched out, as if to stop her and she smiled.

"That's what I thought. You would die for me, but you would never live to see me die." Micah couldn't understand head nor tail of that sentence, but evidently Arthur could. The nose of his gun dipped ever slightly and Ariadne took advantage. She pulled the gun from her temple and fired. Arthur toppled, a small round hole straight through his forehead.

Immediately, the world of the dream began to shake. Micah looked around, terrified, as the ground around him began to split apart, the projections all gone. Except, inexplicably, Ariadne.

She looked at him, and it was the look that almost made him fall over. It was full of sorrow and loss, undeniable grief. She blinked at Micah, and Micah was mystified, there was no explanation for why she was still there—

"Why?" He called.

Her expression didn't change. She blinked at him, her eyelashes long and dark. "Because he can't see what he must do before he dies." Micah opened his mouth to respond, but the world fell away in a rushing mass of light and sound, and he—

He was gasping, rolling onto his back, his arms flailing. Hands wrapped around his elbows and he was looking into the familiar auburn eyes of the point man.

"Breathe, Micah. Look at me."

"You're alive," Micah gasped stupidly. Arthur grimaced before releasing him, swiftly pulling out the needle and tossing it into the trash. Micah sat up as Arthur fell back on the floor, drawing his knees up.

Micah's mind was racing. "She was still there."

Arthur's neck practically caught whiplash as he looked at him. His eyes were huge. "What?"

"Ariadne," Micah said. "Er, your projection. She was still there even after you died, even though everyone else was gone…" He swallowed. "It was terrible. All the light was gone, the storm was worsening and the ground was breaking. It was like the end of the world."

"The dream collapsed," Arthur said hurriedly. "It all falls apart when the dreamer dies. But she shouldn't have still been there. Unless…" He stared at Micah. "Was she yours?"

"My-"

"Your projection!" Arthur snapped. "Was she your projection?"

Micah swallowed. "I… I don't know."

Arthur looked furious. "She had to have been. There is literally no way she would stay if I was awake. She wasn't mine. She was your projection." Arthur got to his feet. Micah cowered as Arthur lashed out, throwing a pile of files to the floor in anger. He looked at the mess on the floor for a moment before shaking his head and picking up his navy blue suit jacket.

"Don't forget to lock up," he snapped irritably at Micah.

"Wait…" Micah's voice cracked and he coughed, scrambling off the chair. "Wait, Arthur! She wanted me to tell you something."

"I highly doubt anything your projection of her had to say has anything of relevance to me," Arthur said, still moving swiftly to the door.

"I asked her why," Micah called, his feet rooted on the ground. "And she said, 'Because he can't see what he must do before he dies.'"

That did it. Arthur froze by the door, his back to Micah. The student waited on tenterhooks, his breathing still rushed and stuttered. The moments seemed to stretch and Arthur didn't move. Minutes passed…

"I said it before, and I will say it again," Arthur said in his softest tone yet. Micah could barely hear him. The point man turned, and Micah was floored by the pain and anguish in the man's face, almost a perfect mirror of his projection of Ariadne's last expression. "I don't give you enough credit, Micah Harper."

"What do you mean?"

Arthur walked back to him, his feet heavy and posture slouched. Micah stared; it was like he'd undergone a transformation in mere minutes, from self-assured dream professional… To insecure and lost man. Arthur did not look organized and careful; he looked lonely and broken, like he was…

Like he was a man with a deadline. A literal one.

All the little things Micah had ever noticed about Arthur Zaleski seemed to rush back in that moment. His tics, his nervous anxiety… He'd assumed it all had to do with the job and its impossibility. But he knew now what it really was.

"When I was ten," Micah whispered, not realizing his mind had decided to speak until after the fact. "My grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was a smoker, so no one was really surprised, but… Having that terminal diagnosis made it real. He had five months to live. He was really strong about it, always smiling and acting normally, but every now and then, the mask slipped… And we saw how batshit scared he really was."

Arthur sank onto one of the chairs, burying his face in his hands. Micah wasn't sure why, but he continued to speak.

"For months, he kept up the façade," Micah murmured. "It was great. But the last few weeks… It was like he'd already died. He joked less, smiled rarely and… It all came to head. He shut down. Just went through the motions…" He swallowed, studying the thin form of the point man. "Arthur… You're not dying. You don't know…"

"But I do," Arthur whispered, finally looking up. "You haven't been on these jobs long enough to know a lost cause when you see one. This won't work out. Someone will have to pay the price, whether in that world or this one."

Micah frowned. "Why do you think it'll be you?"

"Because I won't let it be her," Arthur said softly. "I'll be distracted and focused only on keeping her alive. It's hard enough to take care of myself; it's something completely different to try and protect someone else. Cobb and Eames are pros at escape, Yusuf can hide, and you…" He sighed. "You won't be going too far into the dream. Cobb will drag her down to the lowest level with him, because that's what he did last time."

"She'll be more likely to die than anyone else," Micah finished. "I see."

"I plan," Arthur said harshly. "I plan and prepare. It's what I do. So it only made sense to plan for my death. Eames… I haven't spoken to him, but he'll know why, and he'll know to take her home…I've got a friend in Paris waiting for her return… He'll contact her family, explain that her boyfriend died, and then they'll come for her… She'll be okay."

Micah felt sick. "I can't believe how casual you are about this."

"I've had a target on my back for years," Arthur said. "Almost a decade now. Only this time, I know when I'm going to die."

"That doesn't explain your nonchalance," Micah said. "You're either ridiculously brave or suicidal. Or some other form of insane."

Arthur laughed. It chilled Micah to the bone: low, with no humor. In that second, Micah knew he would never be like Arthur. He would never be as efficient, as talented, smart and organized…

And he didn't even want to be like him anymore.

"Does she know?" He wondered.

Arthur shook his head. "She knows something's wrong. She thinks I'm convinced she's going to die, that I'm crazily worried about it… Which is true, except… That's something that would only happen over my dead body."

"Will you tell her?" Micah whispered.

"No."

Micah stared. "So you'll go into the dream, acting like everything's fine… And then leave her with nothing when she wakes up and you don't?"

"I updated my will," Arthur defended himself. "I've left everything to her."

"That's not what I mean," Micah said. "Really? Don't you see, what my projection was trying to tell you? You're wasting time. She needs to know."

_Because he can't see what he must do before he dies._

Arthur shook his head. "I can't say goodbye to her, Micah. I can't." He got to his feet abruptly and pulled something out of his pants pocket. Micah recognized the dice from Arthur's dream. Arthur tossed it on a table, studied it for a moment, before pocketing it swiftly.

"Don't say a word," Arthur said sternly. "To anyone."

"I think she'd want to know," Micah murmured.

Arthur's eyes were solid ice. "Don't tell her. She can't know."

"Why not?"

Arthur kept walking going the opposite way from the street, instead heading to the beach, ignoring Micah's yells. Micah followed after him. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, staining the ocean red and casting long shadows behind the warehouse. Arthur stepped out, his walk swift.

Micah stopped in the doorway of the warehouse. "Why not?" He yelled. "Why not?"

**Arthur's reasoning will be revisited later, so if you're confused like Micah, just hang tight. **

**Review, please.**


	17. White Blank Page

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**So SNL last night... that was unexpected. Pretty good timing on my part, with this chapter title coming from the Mumford & Sons song. Love it.**

**Things are about to get dark...**

White Blank Page

Saturday, October 8, 2011: Los Angeles, California: Los Angeles Central Library: Arthur

Sitting in a library reminded Arthur of just how much he loved quiet places.

He'd been there for hours, reading through thick reference books and dozens of biographies. His laptop rested on the table in front of him, plugged into the wall, as Arthur had completely run down the battery.

The Central Library was the third-biggest public library in the United States, and it looked like it. The place was massive in the heart of Los Angeles, all thick pavement that reminded him on some level of Paris Descartes University.

Arthur had always loved libraries, ever since he was a child. He'd been an avid reader as a kid, even embarking on small personal research projects whenever he wanted to learn something. It helped that he had a photographic memory, and could remember piles of information with ease. He'd loved libraries as a second home, and still felt that way as an adult.

But after hours and hours of research, even he was feeling exhausted.

It didn't help that his insomnia was worse than ever. After leaving Micah at the warehouse (the student's yells of _why not_ ringing in his ears) Arthur had walked along the Californian beach for hours and hours, just walking, mile after mile. He'd been going South and had slowly come to realize he must've left the city by the way the lights had utterly vanished and he was surrounded by dark. He'd called a taxi to come pick him up and take him back to the hotel.

And things had pretty much gone downhill from there.

Arthur hadn't realized how late it was; after midnight in fact by the time he'd stumbled through the door of his hotel room, to find an anxious Ariadne sitting on the couch, her phone in hand. He'd turned off his phone after leaving Micah, and only just then saw that he'd missed over a dozen calls, spread out over the hours he'd been walking.

She had demanded to know where he'd been. He'd told her he'd gone for a walk. She said Micah had called her to say that Arthur had once again died at the hands of a projection of herself.

Arthur had been furious, and had half a mind to tear out of there and strangle the kid. He'd been halfway to the door when Ariadne dragged him back, assuring him that Micah had promised he wouldn't tell anyone, but that he'd thought Ariadne had a right to know.

"And I sure as hell agree," she'd commented. She'd then asked what he was planning to do about it, and informed Arthur that it was obvious he couldn't do it on his own.

Arthur had said he just needed more time, that was all. That did it.

They'd launched into a yelling match, screaming at each other. Ariadne was a mixture of anger and fear, telling Arthur he was putting himself in unnecessary danger, this job was already bad enough and couldn't he see that he needed her help to overcome his problem with her?

He'd responded by restating years and years of independence, that all he needed was more time, that he needed to work out problems by himself, he always had.

Then he'd said something was the result of exhaustion and agitation.

"Maybe I just need to spend more time by myself."

He thought he had a point. His problem with Ariadne was purely personal, the result of their year-long relationship. Their conversation outside of the restaurant two days earlier had revealed to him how reluctant he was about letting her go. Maybe Cobb's projection of her (not to mention Makena's words) was right: he needed to prepare himself. If he was going to die, he needed to let her go. And he couldn't do that by allowing her to help him overcome this most intimate of mental issues.

He managed to agree with that idea, all the while ignoring what Micah's projection of Ariadne had said.

After he'd said that single sentence, Ariadne had shut down. She'd thrown up her hands, given him one more fierce glare, and then gone to the master bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Arthur had looked at the door for a while, just standing beside the couch, his jacket hanging off the edge from where he'd dropped it. Micah's words rang in his ears: _He can't see what he must do before he dies… You're wasting time… Why not? Why not?_

Arthur knew why not, but he wasn't willing to delve into that at this point. All he knew was that it was best for Ariadne that she not know he was going to die.

So he'd looked at the door, focusing on Micah's other words and Ariadne's earlier assessment: they were running out of time. He'd considered opening the door and going to her, putting his arms around her and whispering apologies to her. But then he'd remembered his recent decision on letting go, and knew he couldn't do it. He'd taken a deep breath and sunk onto the couch. He laid awake for hours before his crumbling mind eventually shut down.

He'd woken hours later, with the morning sunlight falling onto his face. He'd gotten up and entered the bedroom. Ariadne was still asleep. He'd showered, shaved and dressed quickly, closing the door behind him without so much as a kiss on the cheek or a goodbye, something he'd never done before.

Which left him at the library, where he'd been all day. The light was starting to slant through the windows, revealing the time.

Arthur sighed, and ran a hand over his hair. He felt slow and sick, the way he always felt when he hadn't moved in too long. But then again, his health probably wasn't helped by the fight he was currently in with Ariadne…  
I should just apologize, he thought. If this really is our last two weeks together, I can't waste time… She'd never forgive me for that…

A soft beep interrupted his thoughts. He reached into his pants pocket (he was dressed more casually today, wearing a suit but no vest, just a skinny black tie, the suit jacket hung over the back of his chair) and pulled out his cell phone. It was a text from Cobb.

Meeting at the warehouse in half an hour. I've got dinner. –C

Arthur looked up at the clock. It was shortly nearly 5:30, which meant he had to get going anyway. The library closed at 5:30 on Saturdays.

He got to his feet, haphazardly stacking the books into separate piles: books to check out and books to return. He carefully tucked his laptop into his bag and pulled his suit jacket back on, buttoning it fluidly. Arthur placed the return books on a nearby cart and hauled the others to the check-out.

He was greeted by a friendly woman, extremely skinny with blond hair in a pixie cut. She smiled warmly.

"Did you find everything?"

"Yes, I think so," he said softly. He handed her his library card, which was under the name Arthur Bloom. Even though checking out library books seemed like a simple and casual thing that no one would care about, Arthur knew that wasn't quite the case in the shared dreaming field.

The librarian nodded to his response and checked out the books, passing them to Arthur, who packed them carefully.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," she commented.

Arthur nodded. "I haven't been here in years."

"Just passing through?"

"Unfortunately," Arthur said gently. It was easier than explaining why he was really in Los Angeles anyway…

The librarian, satisfied with his answers, returned his card and told him the books were due in four weeks. He gave her a reassuring smile (she probably didn't doubt a man in a suit, considering the usual fare the library housed) and walked outside.

He went to his car, a nondescript black sedan he'd rented earlier that day. Arthur had realized that renting a car was probably cheaper and obviously a hell of a lot more convenient than riding everywhere in a taxi. Los Angeles wasn't New York, after all. He tossed his bag into the backseat and started the engine, pulling into the busy streets that he navigated with ease. He was familiar with California traffic.

He sped down the highway, his favorite part of California. It really lived up to its image. Though the freeways could be swamped with cars, they could also be a desert. It was almost rush hour, but traffic seemed to be lighter on Sundays than any other day. He cruised, his sunglasses on his face, blocking out the setting sun.

It really is nice here, he thought. He remembered Micah's words at LAX and his lips pursed. He didn't want to think about the kid right now.

Half an hour later, and he was in the sketchy part of town where the warehouse was. Arthur had chosen the location for several reasons. The warehouse was big enough. It was isolated, meaning no one would come calling. And it was just close enough to a smaller part of town where they could pick up last minute supplies for whatever they needed. But he wasn't a fan of the gang activity…

Speaking of…

Arthur slowed down, his eyes focused on a lone figure walking along the side of the road. The warehouse was just off in the distance, clearly walkable. The figure had probably taken the bus. He scowled as he recognized the person.

_Is she insane?_ He thought. She knew what this neighborhood was like…

Arthur hit the brakes and signaled, letting other cars pass him by as he slowed near the shoulder. Ariadne turned her head, her eyes widening in fear before relaxing with recognition. He noticed she was dressed very formally (a lot nicer than usual) in a blue blouse with buttons and a black pencil skirt. At least she was wearing flats.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Can I give you a ride?"

She sighed but nodded. He stopped the car and unlocked the door, letting Ariadne climb into the front seat. She glanced at the back before looking at him as he pulled into traffic.

"When did you get this?"

"This morning," Arthur replied. "I figured it was easier than taking a taxi everywhere." He paused, glancing at her from the corners of his eyes. "Or walking. Ari, this neighborhood…"

Her voice was bitter. "Maybe I just needed some time to myself."

Ouch. Arthur maintained his cool poker face. "Not at the expense of your safety, please."

"Aha. You're one to talk, Arthur."

"Can you let that go?" He asked sharply. _Like I'm trying to let you go?_

She glared at him. Arthur was acutely aware that neither of them had gotten over the argument, or forgotten about it. They were both too damn stubborn. "Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. This is your life we're talking about."

"And it's fine," Arthur said. He prayed she wouldn't be able to tell that he was lying through his teeth.

"Do you really think you're the best judge of that?"

They'd reached the warehouse. Arthur pulled the car into the side lot, on the South side of the house, stopping quite abruptly and jolting Ariadne in her seat. A small group of men, gang members by the looks of them, had watched his screeching stop but had soon returned to their quiet murmurings, standing by an abandoned bus stop twenty feet beyond the warehouse. He shut off the ignition and swiveled in his seat to face her.

"Ariadne," he said quietly. "You have to trust me. Everything will be fine."

"You've been telling me that for days," she said, her voice equally as quiet. "And everything's just gotten worse. When will you admit you may be wrong about this and let me help you?"

Arthur didn't say anything, letting Ariadne's words sink in. She was right, as always. But…

"Please," he said at last. "Please let me do this as I decide."

She threw up her hands. "God dammit, Arthur. What's going on with you? You've been acting like a different person. It's driving me crazy. I almost feel like-" She broke off, choking on the words.

"Go on." Arthur met her eyes, his own dark, hers pleading. "Say it."

She swallowed. "I almost feel like… I don't know who you are anymore."

"I'm the point man," he said harshly. "This is how I have to be. You need to get used to that."

"But even on the Fischer job, you weren't like this-"

"This isn't anything like the Fischer job," Arthur snapped, interrupting her. "I have to be better than that. Stronger, smarter… Everything. Better."

Ariadne sighed deeply, deflating against the seat. "This doesn't feel better."

"Maybe not for us, yes."

"Is this job worth it?"

Arthur was startled by the question, and how poignant and critical it was. He felt like he'd been kicked in the chest; Ariadne clearly thought he was putting the job over their relationship, when it couldn't have been anymore different. He opened his mouth to respond but she'd gotten out of the car, slamming the door shut and marching towards the door. Arthur gave her a ten second head start before following, locking the car and slamming the door shut behind him.

He realized that the men had been catcalling at Ariadne, who ignored them and walked straight to the warehouse without so much as a glance. But Arthur slowed, staring at the men.

"That's a pretty little girl," one of them yelled at Arthur. "But she don't look so happy, man."

He glared at them. "Fuck off." They only laughed harder and Arthur scowled, pulling open the warehouse door.

The warehouse was lit by half a dozen massive white lights overhead, like a grocery store. Arthur adjusted his bag as he walked, noticing everyone else was there.

Yusuf and Micah were sitting on two of the beach chairs, eating the Mexican food Cobb had brought. Eames was sitting at his desk, headphones over his ears while he watched a film on his laptop; Arthur guessed it was one of the home movies Browning had given him. Cobb was on the other end of the room, writing out the goals for the levels on a chalkboard. Arthur's eyes passed over him, until he found Ariadne. She was at her desk, dropping her bag onto the floor and pulling out sketchpads and pens.

Arthur bypassed her, going to his own desk, which was meticulously neat and organized. He set his bag down and began emptying it, as Cobb strolled over, his eyes locked on the books Arthur was revealing.

"Find anything good?" He wondered.

"Most of these are biographies," Arthur said, separating the books into separate piles. "I thought they might help Eames. They won't help me, I already combed through them…"

Cobb nodded at a different pile. "And those?"

"Are more recent," Arthur explained. "The dissolution of Fischer Morrow took the energy world storm. So unexpected…" He trailed off, feeling just as uncomfortable as Cobb looked. "Anyway. A number of periodicals and reference books were published, alongside numerous biographies of Maurice Fisher. I got most of them from the library, but I've also ordered some via express shipping."

"Okay," Cobb said. He opened one at random and began to scan it, while Arthur pulled off his suit jacket, hanging it off his chair. His eyes couldn't help but wander across the room, to where Ariadne had sat with Micah and Yusuf to have dinner. He bit the inside of his lip in thought.

Eames suddenly appeared at Arthur's side. Arthur couldn't help but notice that Eames, like Ariadne, was also dressed far more nicely. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Eames wearing such dark pants and such a nice dress shirt and tie. His was red stripes and thick, a stark contrast (well that was normal) to Arthur.

"I heard my name," Eames said, scanning the books.

"I found some books you might be interested in," Arthur explained.

Eames smiled. "How thrifty of you, darling. Thanks." Arthur rolled his eyes as Cobb strolled away, returning to his chalkboard.

"What did you do today?" Arthur asked. Eames glanced up, and Arthur nodded at Eames' attire.

"Ariadne and I visited with Browning again," Eames explained, looking a little surprised. "I thought she would've told you that."

Arthur didn't respond, only glanced back at Ariadne. She was wearing a small smile, chatting with Micah. Yusuf had finished eating, and had returned to his own work area. He was barely visible behind the half a dozen or so vials and burners he'd accumulated in the past few days.

Eames' voice was quiet. "Trouble in paradise?"

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. "Never you mind." He abruptly changed the subject, with, "What's Browning like?"

"A real piece of work," Eames said. "I already knew that before the last Fischer job, because I worked with him before we went under. But now that he's seen his precious company fall apart around him… It's like there's blood in the water."

"That bad?"

Eames nodded furtively. "Very. He functions in a very perfect, business-like way. He's talented at coming off as charming, while he's really just a tremendous bastard. I also got the feeling that he might've been quite the womanizer back in his day; he's married now, but I'm almost certain he's got a mistress tucked away somewhere."

"Hm." Arthur's voice was pleasant enough, but he was thinking hard. He hadn't liked Browning before, and knowing all this just made him more nervous and frustrated about the man. "What did he have to say about Maurice?"

"Now, that's what I'm a little confused over," Eames admitted. "He behaves like he has the utmost respect for the man, but I'm not sure that's legitimate."

"Why?"

"Because that would make Maurice Fischer the lone person in the world Browning sees as his equal," Eames explained. "Browning's got a ridiculous ego. Worse than mine, if you can believe that. He's very wrapped up in his perfection. He still talks about Robert Fischer like the man is a young boy still. But Maurice… it sounds very much like he actually misses the man."

Arthur nodded. "With Maurice around, the company would still be intact."

"I think it's deeper than that. I think they really were good friends."

"What did Robert say when Browning asked why he was breaking up the empire?" Arthur wondered.

Eames frowned. "He said he thought his father would've wanted it."

"Interesting. So Browning thinks…"

"That Robert is mistaken," Eames finished. "He doesn't blame Maurice in the slightest. He and Robert are on frosty terms these days, because Browning had the audacity to suggest he'd always known Maurice better than Robert had; and the Maurice he knew would never have broken up the empire."

"That would make for frosty terms," Arthur agreed.

Eames smirked. "It's very ugly."

"Has Browning said why Robert will be in Los Angeles in two weeks? Robert spends the majority of his time in Sydney now."

"Robert has conveniently scheduled a meeting in two weeks with another energy company," Eames said smoothly. "And yes: this is why we only have two weeks to work. The meeting is on October 20th."

Arthur scowled. "Great."

"Browning doesn't understand what we have to do," Eames murmured, glancing to Cobb, who was oblivious to their conversation. "He's aware of dream heists; it's happened to others he knows. But he doesn't see what makes this job so unique and so bloody impossible."

"Has he said anything about Cobb's kids?"

Eames sighed, and shook his head. "No. I've been keeping an eye out for anything, but he's kept Ariadne and I only in his office. They could be on the twelfth floor and I'd have no idea."

"They're not," Arthur murmured.

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Have you been trying to find them?"

"We have to prepare for failure," Arthur explained. "I've been researching Browning extensively, obviously. But I've been focusing on his personal life, trying to find any secret homes or accounts he might have."

"Anything?"

"They're still in the continental U.S.," Arthur said. "I think they're somewhere in California. Browning wouldn't risk transporting them across state lines."

"Where in California?" Eames asked.

"Close," Arthur said. "In case he should need to use them directly as leverage. Probably somewhere in the county. Maybe not the city, but no farther than the county."

Eames ran a hand over his face. "Damn."

"I'm trying to track down safe houses Browning may have," Arthur murmured, speaking quickly, aware of Cobb's proximity. Ariadne and Micah had finished eating, and were standing by Ariadne's desk. She was describing her designs to him, holding the beginnings of a model. "He's got a few houses that the public knows of: one in Malibu, one in Manhattan and one in Sydney."

"Malibu then."

"No," Arthur said, grimacing. "Too risky. Besides, his wife is at their Malibu house right now."

"And she wouldn't be in on this," Eames surmised.

"Absolutely not."

"What's his wife like?" Eames asked thoughtfully.

Arthur shrugged. "Her name is Eleanor. They're the same age, having been together since they were twenty-two. They've got two children, but neither lives in Los Angeles. One's in Portland, the other's in Chicago."

"Fled the nest."

"Evidently."

Eames yawned widely as Cobb suddenly beckoned everyone over to his chalkboard. Eames shot Arthur a look as they started over.

"This will be good."

Arthur nodded, smirking. "I don't doubt that." Eames laughed loudly.

They settled around the chalkboard, all six of them. Cobb was the only one that stood, while the rest sat on chairs or stools. Arthur glanced at Ariadne, but she maintained a cool expression and kept her distance from him, sitting next to Micah, who managed to look guilty when Arthur stared at him. Eames noticed the exchange, but didn't comment as he flopped in a chair.

Cobb wrote October 20 on the board and circled it. "That's the day."

"Too close," Yusuf muttered.

"It's the day Robert Fischer will be in Los Angeles," Cobb said, explaining what Arthur already knew. "He'll think he's attending a meeting in Peter Browning's private offices, which both Eames and Ariadne have had the pleasure of visiting."

"It's very clean," Eames supplied. Arthur couldn't help but smirk, shaking his head.

Cobb ignored this. "The fact is, only Browning will be there, and this is where things get tricky. He wants to confront Robert beforehand."

A short silence descended over the group. Micah broke it.

"What?"

"He wants to give Fischer the chance to reverse his decision on breaking up the empire on his own," Cobb explained. "He knows it's a long-shot-"

"Long-shot?" Arthur interjected blandly. "It's fucking impossible."

"Yes, well," Cobb continued. "He wants to try. He still loves Fischer."

Eames nodded thoughtfully. "He still views Fischer as a little boy. He thinks he's throwing a tantrum by breaking up the empire, that he hasn't come to terms with losing his father."

Cobb inclined his head in agreement. "I think you're right. The point is, we'll have to leave the office for a few minutes while Browning tires to change Fischer's mind. And assuming that doesn't work-"

"-It won't," supplied Arthur.

"-The rest of us will move in," Cobb finished. "We'll all go under then."

"And then we start this lost cause," Eames said.

Cobb sighed. "Then we start the dream, yes."

"Have you decided whose dreams we will be in?" Yusuf asked.

"Yes," Cobb said. "We'll just go the same way as before. Yours will be our first level; Arthur's will be the second; and Eames' will be the third."

Arthur sat up slowly. "Can I argue that?"

Everyone stared at him, but Arthur remained steadfast, his eyes focused solely on Cobb. The older man frowned, resting his head on his hand in thought, tapping the chalk in his hand.

"What's the idea?" He eventually asked.

"Simple," Arthur said. "Eames and I switch. He runs the second level, and I run the third."

"Why?" Ariadne's voice was soft, but harsh at the same time. Arthur looked at her. She had a stubborn expression on her face, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I'm more valuable," Arthur said flatly, ignoring whatever Eames was about to say. "I have more experience than Eames in complicated dreams like this. You need the third level to be flawless; I can do that."

Cobb frowned, seeing Arthur's point. Eames coughed awkwardly.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, darling," he commented. "But we need Maurice Fischer to make an appearance on the final level. And that is something I can do better than you."

Arthur's stomach sank. He was right, of course. Eames' forgery of Maurice Fischer was a necessity for the third level.

Micah coughed self-consciously. "What if I run the second level?"

Everyone gawked at him. Arthur's eyebrows were raised as he considered Micah's suggestion. It was lunacy, for sure: Micah was brand-new to this and couldn't be trusted to run a whole dream level by himself, with projections on his tail. But it would mean Arthur could follow Ariadne down to the final level…

"No." Cobb's voice was firm. "I appreciate your offer, Micah, but Arthur has to run the second. He can handle the projections while taking care of the rest of us."

Micah nodded once, accepting this, and his eyes ghosted to Arthur's. It hit Arthur then that Micah had only offered because he wanted Arthur to be with Ariadne on the last level. Arthur found himself speechless, unsure how to respond to that kind of generosity.

Yusuf interrupted Arthur's revelation. "Arthur may be able to fight off dozens of projections at once," he said slowly. "But I certainly cannot. How do you expect me to handle the first level? It's the longest."

Cobb nodded at Ariadne, who cleared her throat.

"I'm working on that," she said, glancing at Cobb. She added, "I'll explain the level to you later. You won't have to physically fight anyone." Yusuf nodded, relieved.

"How are the sedatives coming along?" Cobb wondered.

Yusuf sighed. "Not well. I've been looking, experimenting… But I believe we'll have to use the same sedative. There's nothing nearly as strong or fail-safe as it."

"Limbo, here we come," Eames muttered. Arthur couldn't help but agree.

Cobb ignored them. "Then get started on mixing that."

Eames raised his hand. "Question. What exactly is left in Limbo for us poor souls who end up there?"

There was a long silence, during which Cobb and Ariadne exchanged a long glance. Arthur kept his gaze neutral, all the while thinking hard. Ariadne had told him what happened with Cobb and Mal, but he'd never gotten Cobb's side of the story. He wondered how different it would be.

"It's miles and miles of city," Cobb said quietly. "The buildings are falling into an ocean."

"Sounds lovely," Eames said. "Now how about telling me what exactly happened last time."

Cobb sighed. "It was Fischer, Ariadne, Mal and me."

Eames' eyebrows shot up. "Mal, huh? I figured, since you shot that projection of her on the third level." His eyes flickered to Arthur as he spoke.

"She had Fischer," Cobb explained. "Holding him hostage, threatening to keep him, unless I stayed there with her…" He trailed off, suddenly casting a huge smile at Ariadne. "Ariadne was brilliant. She shot Mal after Mal attacked me, and then kicked Fischer off the balcony, sending him back to the third level, to you. She wanted to stay with me, to make sure I came back…"

"I didn't want to leave you down there with her," Ariadne said softly.

Arthur's spine prickled as he thought about what might've happened if Ariadne had refused to leave Cobb. Would she have ended up stuck down there, or would they both have made it?

He'd wondered, during their planning of the Fischer job, whether there was something developing between them. Cobb was very open and willing to share his secrets with Ariadne, who proved her trustworthiness by keeping them just that; secret. Arthur had known something was up with Cobb, but had chosen to respect his friend's wishes by not getting involved.

But he hadn't been able to keep his own developing feelings for Ariadne at bay. So during his dream, while she fretted over the projections searching for him, he stole a kiss from her. He hadn't been able to explain why, but she'd figured it out. When he caught up to her in LAX, touching her shoulder to get her attention, her wide smile when she turned around told him everything he needed to know.

Not to mention the deep kiss she'd given him a moment later.

Arthur returned to the present day when Cobb asked him what he'd found out about Browning. He took a deep breath before launching into his detailed explanation.

The meeting adjourned twenty minutes later, but no one decided to leave the warehouse; there was simply too much to do. Arthur made it to his desk and was seated by the time Ariadne reached him.

"Why did you want the third level?" She demanded without preamble.

Arthur sighed. He should've expected she would be put out by his request to run the third level. "Like I said. I've got more experience handling complex dreams like this."

"You mean the Fischer job."

"No," Arthur said in a low voice. Luckily, it seemed like everyone else was focusing on something else, ignoring the bickering couple. "I've done other jobs where we went down three levels. The only one Eames has done is the Fischer job."

Ariadne didn't look convinced. "You want to follow me down."

Arthur stilled, but knew that lying (when she clearly knew she was right) would only ruin things more. "Yes."

She sighed, running a hand through her long brown hair in worry. "Arthur. I can take care of myself. You don't need to protect me."

"I know that," Arthur said brusquely. "I know you can take care of yourself. But…"

"But what? It doesn't sound like you know that."

"It scares me," he said quietly. "You being somewhere I can't be. I'll have no idea what's happening to you…"

"You need to accept that," Ariadne said gently. "Besides; this dream is so much more dangerous for you, what with… The projection, and all."

Her tone was light, but Arthur knew she was still terrified over the projection that kept killing him, and that she was even more upset over his reluctance to accept her help.

"It'll be okay, Ari," he said at last.

"Prove it then," she said fiercely.

"Ari-"

"Arthur." Her tone was final. He met her eyes when her hand brushed his cheek. "Please let me help you."

He took a deep breath, gathering his wits. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?" She looked sad but didn't give him a chance to speak. Arthur watched as she turned and walked away, her arms crossed over her blouse, her footsteps soft.

Arthur returned to his work, once again questioning everything. Ariadne always had that effect on him. She made him doubt who he was, who he was supposed to be. Everything in his life had been black and white before she'd entered it. He'd had no family (that he spoke to), very few friends (none who knew what he really did; he told them he was a traveling salesman), several work acquaintances (who he never spent any time with). And then Ariadne had come along, and he'd had a reason at last to leave the job that'd devoured his life. Because she was worth it.

And still is, he thought. He never regretted his decision to give it all up for her.

Arthur had his reasons for keeping secrets from her, and nothing could change his mind about that. But Ariadne wasn't just nothing, and she was doing an awfully good job at attempting…

He shook his head, watching as Ariadne and Cobb went outside, Cobb helping her take out the stacks of paper and cardboard she'd gone through already. He had half a mind to call out, tell her he'd help, but he knew she didn't want his help right now. Probably since he'd started rejecting hers.

The door banged shut behind them.

Arthur had only been working for several minutes when Micah appeared out of nowhere. The student stood awkwardly in front of his desk, wringing his hands together nervously. Arthur glanced up before returning to his books.

Micah took a deep breath. "Um…"

"Yes," Arthur said, not offering anything in the way of encouragement.

"I just…" Micah sighed, letting go of his anxieties and going all in. "I wanted to… apologize. I think I overstepped my boundaries."

Arthur glared at him. "A little bit, Micah," he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Micah nodded. "I didn't want to screw anything up between you and Ariadne, but I guess I did."

Arthur almost let him have it, to yell at Micah about how he and Ariadne were barely speaking, and that had never happened before, and that when they did speak it was to yell and fight, and that never happened. But the apologetic look on the younger man's face caused the harsh words to die in his throat. Whatever his faults, Micah did have the best interests of others at heart. He'd proven that by offering to run the second level, even though he knew plenty well that he could be so easily killed and sent to Limbo. The firsthand experience of Arthur's murder the night before would've done that well enough.

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured. "I know you were trying to do the right thing. And… Thanks for offering to take my place."

Micah shrugged modestly. "You're already doing everything you possibly can to protect her… I just wanted to do what little I could."

"It's okay," Arthur said. "I appreciate it. Really."

"Keep teaching me to fight," Micah suggested. "And then I can really do some damage to whatever projections I meet on the third level."

Arthur smiled. "Give them hell from me, okay?"

"Damn straight."

Arthur chuckled and proceeded to tell Micah about the first job he'd ever gone on with Cobb (where he obliterated about two dozen projections, earning Cobb's respect very quickly). But Eames' voice broke into their mutual laughter.

"They've been gone for a while."

He looked over, wondering for a moment as to whom Eames was talking about. But then he remembered seeing Ariadne and Cobb go outside with recycling, and glanced at his watch. They'd been gone for almost ten minutes.

Micah frowned. "Why…" But he trailed off when Arthur abruptly stood up.

His heart was beating a thousand miles an hour, and he felt like his skin had turned to ice. His head was swimming.

"Those men," he whispered. "They were watching her."

Eames looked bewildered, but Micah cottoned on to Arthur's meaning right away, his blue eyes widening.

"Shit."

Arthur didn't spare him another second. Instead, he took off in a fast sprint, Micah's sneakers slapping the ground behind him as he raced after Arthur. Arthur was dimly aware of Eames' yell of confusion, and the sound of the forger's chair sliding across the floor as he stood to follow. Arthur dashed to the warehouse door and threw it open, darting to the right where the dumpsters were.

The sun had long since set, and the place was almost pitch black, illuminated only by the flickering lamp post alongside the empty road and the light that radiated from the inside of the warehouse. But even with the darkness, Arthur could see.

He was faced with a scene from his worst nightmares.

Cobb was lying facedown on the ground; he'd obviously been forcefully knocked out by something heavy, judging by the darker splotch on his blond hair at the back of his head. Arthur only gave him a cursory glance, ignoring Micah's strangled gasp as he focused on the group of people farther down the alley.

Ariadne was pressed against the wall of the building next door to the warehouse. Arthur could barely see her, as she was surrounded by at least half a dozen men in dark clothes; the men Arthur had seen earlier by the bus stop. They were crowing in excitement, still unaware of the presence of Arthur, Micah and Eames, who had caught up.

Eames spoke first. "Bloody hell-"

Arthur didn't even look at him. Instead, he threw himself at the men, slamming his fist into the nearest and letting that one stumble while he attacked another. They turned to face him until they spotted Micah and Eames, the latter having joined Arthur's attack with enthusiasm. They began to scatter, yelling warnings.

Arthur was just a few feet from the two who were holding Ariadne against the wall. One had her by the throat, his hand covering her mouth to prevent her from screaming. Her small hands were wrapped around the hand strangling her throat, and her eyes were huge with fear even as she spotted Arthur.

His presence must've alarmed them, because the second man, whose hands had been all over her, jerked his hand suddenly in alarm, removing it from her right breast and running down to her hips before pulling away entirely. Arthur caught a flash of silver and heard Ariadne's muffled scream and he realized what had just happened.

"Get away from her," he snapped. They didn't need telling twice. The man with the knife turned tail and fled. His friend released Ariadne and took off, letting her fall. She stumbled forward but Arthur caught her easily, picking her up in his arms. Her breath was coming in swift gasps, and she was gripping his shirt like her life depended on it. She tried to speak, but nothing was articulated.

"Arthur-" It was Micah who'd spoken. He broke off as Arthur turned, Ariadne resting in his arms. Micah's eyes zoomed in on the dark stain visible through Ariadne's slashed shirt. "Oh, God, Arthur, her… her shirt…"

"Move," Arthur hissed. He started running, trying not to jostle Ariadne, but he was more focused on getting her inside to check on her. He was done to single syllables now, his fear skyrocketing and growing worse. He sped past Eames, who had successfully pulled up Cobb, tossing the man over his shoulder. Arthur kept going though, with Micah hurrying after him, leaving Eames to get Cobb.

Ariadne's breath was still coming fast, and Arthur could feel her heartbeat, the way she was pressed into his chest. He forced himself to focus on that as he raced to the warehouse.

**Yikes... I'd just like to add this incident isn't just for dramatic effect, it's actually important to the rest of the plot.**


	18. This Modern Love

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**FireLily25 has returned with a whole bunch of reviews, and Iole17 continues to be the enthusiasm that makes me post chapters. Thanks guys.**

**Song title from Bloc Party, one of my favorites.**

This Modern Love

Saturday, October 8, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Warehouse: Micah

Micah's head was spinning. Could this really be happening?

He knew that gangs attacked people, and mugged people. Back in Houston, he'd heard about it plenty of times. But gang rape was something else entirely. He kept his eyes locked on Arthur's back, as the point man ran to the warehouse, moving so swiftly even with Ariadne's limp body tight in his arms. Micah glanced ahead of him and picked up the pace, lapping past him to throw open the door. Arthur didn't even look at him as he ran inside.

Yusuf was standing in the middle of the room, a confused expression on his face that quickly turned to amazement and horror when he spotted Arthur. Without a word, he turned and ran to his work station, rifling through drawers as Arthur carefully laid Ariadne down on one of the long beach chairs.

Micah didn't know what he could do, or say. But he found his feet propelling him forward, to stand by and watch Arthur, who was hovering over Ariadne, his tie on the floor, having been removed to make things easier for him to work. He didn't stop moving as his hands went to her shirt.

Micah was sure he'd never seen anything less sensual than the image of Arthur, leaned over Ariadne, unbuttoning her blouse fluidly, so calm even with the dark stain that ran almost the length of her shirt. His long fingers were steady as they darted through the buttons. But he was forced to stop when Ariadne's hand reached up, curling around his wrist in an attempt to stop him. Her eyes were wild, and for a moment, she didn't know him.

"Breathe," Arthur murmured. "It's me. Stay still." They locked eyes but Arthur looked away, returning to his task.

Arthur pulled open her blouse without a second's hesitation, clearly not caring that Micah (and everyone else for that matter) could now see Ariadne's black bra.

Micah hadn't been with many girls, and such an occasion would've been great. If the situation was starkly different. He'd never felt less turned on.

Arthur's hands dipped, going to Ariadne's skirt. He curled his left hand around the top edge of it, pulling down her skirt, tights and panties without further ado, but keeping the other side of her skirt in place, creating an odd uneven line that still covered anything further. Micah blinked at the creamy white skin revealed, but he was honestly more distracted by the bright red line of blood that ran from the top of her ribcage to the middle of her right hip.

She'd been cut by a knife, that much was apparent, and Arthur was only removing her clothes so he could examine it. Micah had no idea what he was looking for, but Arthur evidently did. He scanned the long wound, but didn't touch it. Without further explanation, Arthur reached up to his dress shirt and began unbuttoning it hurriedly. He shrugged out of it and folded it vertically, creating a layered bandage. He laid it on top of the long wound, applying steady pressure to control the bleeding.

Micah couldn't help but gape a little at Arthur's torso. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen so many scars on one person. There were long gashes, examples of Arthur's own experiences with stabbings. Micah noticed numerous discolorations, and even the remnants of bullets; he counted five different blemishes, among others he couldn't imagine the source of. Ariadne gasped suddenly, as if she was waking up.

Her eyes were tightly closed, her hands held in fists. Micah was impressed with how she'd managed to listen to Arthur's directions. But her restraint was quickly fading as she started trembling, her hands shaking as they tried to feel the thick gash.

"Micah," Arthur snapped, his voice like shrapnel. Micah stepped closer, and Arthur's hands guided his, placing them on his shirt, pressed against Ariadne. "Firm pressure." Micah pressed down, but made sure to remain gentle; he didn't want to make it worse. Arthur didn't wait for a response, instead grabbing Ariadne's wrists.

He leaned over her, his face directly above hers. Micah couldn't see his eyes, but the way the muscles in his bare back were tensed told him everything he needed to know. This was the point man.

"Ariadne," Arthur said clearly, his voice loud and honest. "You've been stabbed. You're going into shock. I need you to stay awake, and I need you to breathe."

This didn't calm her. If anything, her shaking worsened, her hands trying to free themselves. Arthur let go of her wrists, instead curling his hands around her elbows, pinning her arms to the chair.

"Ariadne," he tried again. "Look at me. _Look at me._"

She took a long, rattling breath, and her chocolate brown eyes zeroed in on Arthur's face. Micah still couldn't see it, but he could imagine how stoic and calm it was. Arthur really was the guy you wanted around in a stressful situation.

"Breathe with me," he told her. Micah watched, entranced, as Arthur proceeded to inhale and exhale deeply, at a steady rhythm. Ariadne gulped, struggling to follow. Her eyes were still terrified, but it was working; her breathing was becoming more regular.

"Good girl," Arthur said. "I'm right here, okay? I'm right here."

She gasped, tears leaking from her eyes, still gasping in air. "Arthur…"

"Yes, I'm here. Keep breathing for me, Ariadne."

"Arthur," she repeated. "Don't leave me…"

Micah looked at Arthur's back as the point man continued to breathe with the architect. He hadn't taken his eyes off hers, his body still hovering over hers, his waist twisted in the effort.

He finally spoke again. "I'm right here," he repeated, something that Micah thought wasn't really reassuring, and was certainly not the response Ariadne had been looking for.

Yusuf abruptly returned, elbowing past Micah. Arthur heard him coming and shifted, kneeling behind Ariadne's head. Her eyes followed him, craning her neck as he leaned over her, their faces upside down to the other's. Micah watched as Arthur's hands returned to their places on Ariadne's elbows, still restraining. Yusuf took Arthur's place, sitting beside Ariadne's legs. He pulled latex gloves on his hands and adjusted his glasses.

He nodded at Micah's hands. "Let's take a look."

Micah carefully peeled Arthur's shirt from Ariadne's stab wound. The skin around the wound was stained bright red, and the shirt was beyond that in terms of color. Yusuf frowned and reached for the wound, as fresh blood ran out.

Ariadne cried out as his fingers brushed her wound.

"I'll be gentle," Yusuf told her. Arthur's voice was clear as he spoke: "Yusuf is checking the wound. We need to assess how serious it is."

"How deep?" Ariadne whimpered.

"Deep enough," Yusuf said gravely. Arthur finally tore his eyes from Ariadne's to meet Yusuf's. The Chemist was grave. "It won't stop bleeding anytime soon. She'll need stitches." He nodded at Micah. "Cover it again. That'll slow infection." Micah did as he was told.

Arthur nodded, unsurprised. "How many?"

Yusuf shook his head, digging in the first aid kit on his lap. "I'm not sure yet. I've never seen a stab wound this long. What happened?"

Arthur and Micah were saved from responding by the sound of knocking on the warehouse door; Micah realized Eames and Cobb hadn't come in yet. Micah leapt to his feet and raced over to the door, pulling it open. Eames staggered in, supporting Cobb, who was beginning to come to.

"How is she?" Eames asked without preamble. His eyes merely ghosted over Micah, instead focusing on the group huddled in the middle of the room. Micah helped him carry Cobb to a long beach chair nearby. Eames dumped him into it and stood over Yusuf's shoulder. He looked horrified.

"Damn," he breathed.

"Cobb," Ariadne whispered. "Is he okay?"

Eames nodded. "Starting to wake up now. How about you, love?"

She grimaced. "It doesn't really hurt anymore."

"That'll be the shock setting in," Arthur murmured. Ariadne looked at him again, and Arthur's eyes returned to hers. They stared at each other, and Micah was stunned by the look in Arthur's eyes.

And suddenly, he saw how right Arthur was when he called him young during their first training session. Because he'd never come close to feeling that sort of love in Arthur's face. Micah had seen love throughout his life; his parents were still married, for crying out loud. But he was pretty sure he'd never seen any man look at a woman like Arthur looked at Ariadne.

He'd known that Arthur really loved Ariadne; hell, the man was planning to die for her, after all. But his face said he was willing to do anything and everything for her. He would kill himself if it could save her; he would walk through fire to follow her, go to the ends of the Earth and hell itself if she was waiting there.

"I have to clean the wound," Yusuf said, speaking to Ariadne. Yusuf pulled antiseptic from the first aid kit on his lap as he spoke. She nodded, keeping her eyes locked on Arthur's face.

Yusuf clearly had a medical background, Micah thought, as the chemist expertly cleaned out the wound, his hands running down Ariadne's side with atypical skill. Arthur glanced up, watching him as he worked. Ariadne kept her eyes open, her face alarmingly passive.

Once that was done, Yusuf fished around in the first aid kit. Micah blanched when he revealed unusually thick thread and a violently sharp needle.

"Shouldn't we take her to a hospital?" He asked.

"We tend to avoid hospitals," Eames murmured. "It only gets the government involved. If anything on the job goes wrong, they'd have all the information they need to catch us."

"She's losing blood quickly," Yusuf added. "It's in her best interests to get this done right now."

Ariadne spoke up: "Just do it, please."

Yusuf nodded at her. "Of course. Right away."

Micah watched as the chemist prepared the thread and needle, looping it through expertly. A few moments passed, during which Micah began to notice Arthur's shirt darken even more and Ariadne's breath continue to shake. Her skin was turning clammy, but it was hard to tell with the shadow caused by Arthur.

Yusuf finished and raised the needle, but hesitated over the top of the wound. "I'm sorry. This will hurt a little."

Ariadne took a deep breath, but nodded. "I know. Thank you."

Arthur's hands slid down Ariadne's arms to rest in her hands. "Squeeze my hands," he told her softly. Yusuf turned to her wound.

Eames turned away as Ariadne cried out, biting her lip to keep from doing so. Micah heard the forger go to Cobb, checking on the man; but Micah also suspected that Eames just didn't want to watch Ariadne's pain. He was having a hard time stomaching it as well.

Arthur's face remained calm and focused, his eyes locked on Yusuf's stitching work. Every now and then he offered a comment, a direction on technique, and Yusuf followed without asking questions. Micah realized that Arthur was no novice when it came to stitching. His eyes alighted on the many scars that marred Arthur's chest and back.

Barely a minute had passed when Arthur's eyes suddenly snapped up to Micah's and he spoke: "Micah. Take my place."

Micah stared at him. "What?" He glanced at Ariadne, whose eyes (closed from the pain) flew open in alarm. Micah couldn't blame her; he didn't want Arthur to move either.

"Micah," Arthur repeated, his tone forceful and eyes serious. Micah realized he wasn't going to demand again, and knelt beside the point man. Arthur leaned down and kissed Ariadne's forehead quickly, before tearing his hands out of Ariadne's (which had been locked around his) and standing. Micah reached for Ariadne's hands, but she pulled away, her hands reaching instead for Arthur's.

Ariadne looked stunned. "Arthur…"

"Yusuf, Eames and Micah are here," Arthur said. He turned to his desk and picked up his suit jacket. He reached into it and Micah almost fell over when he pulled out a gun.

Eames, who'd looked around at the exchange, leapt to his feet beside Cobb. "Arthur, what are you doing?"

Arthur didn't respond; he didn't need to. His face said it all: it screamed dangerous. Micah had never seen anyone look more violent.

Ariadne was staring at him, her tears of pain increasing, but for whole other reasons. "Arthur, don't go… Don't leave me…"

He shook his head, looking at her from across the room. "I'll be back soon. Stay awake." Without another word, he turned, still shirtless, and strode to the door with purpose, the gun in his right hand. He yanked the door open and vanished into the dark night outside.

Eames moved as well, reaching into his jacket pocket and revealing his own gun. He hurried after Arthur, but paused at the door.

"I'll bring him back safe, Ariadne," he said clearly. "Just focus on healing, love." He stepped outside, the warehouse door clanging shut.

And then it was silent. Micah gulped and looked down at Ariadne beneath him. Her head was turned, staring at the place where Arthur and Eames had disappeared. There was a world of hurt and terror in her eyes.

"He'll be okay," Micah heard himself say. Ariadne looked at him. She was crying hard now, but Micah knew it didn't have anything to do with the small stitches Yusuf was working on.

Her voice was small. "He left me."

"No," Micah said quickly. "No, because he's coming back…"

She shook her head, her eyes closed. "I can't believe he left me…"

"Ariadne," Yusuf said urgently. "Please stay still. Try to relax."

"How can I relax?" She croaked. "He's not here. Oh, God…"

"Ariadne," Micah said quickly. "Please listen to me. Arthur got you to breathe with him. Can you breathe with me now?" He felt like an idiot as he mimicked Arthur's earlier actions, breathing deeply. "Come on, please. Copy me. In, out…"

Ever so slowly, and to Micah's amazement, it worked. Ariadne breathed with him, tears still streaming down her face. But she was getting there.

A quiet groan caused Micah to jump. He turned to see Cobb, whose eyes were blinking open. He raised his hand to his head, feeling the dried blood there. Micah realized that in all their worry over Ariadne, no one had been treating Cobb.

"What…" Cobb blinked, as he registered the scene before him. His eyes turned huge and he scrambled, lurching over.

"Ariadne," he gasped. "Oh, shit. I…" His eyes trailed over her, looking at the extent of the knife wound, and the small stitches Yusuf was working on. He looked up to see Micah.

"How are you feeling?" Micah asked.

"I've got the migraine from hell," Cobb said. "But I'm not important right now." He looked around in confusion. Micah opened his mouth to explain, but the sudden understanding that washed over Cobb's face stopped him.

"Of course," the extractor said softly. He turned back to Micah. "Arthur and Eames went after them, didn't they?"

Micah nodded. "I think so. They both tore out of here with guns."

"Arthur's always been one for revenge," Cobb said. "And with it being Ariadne…" He looked at the architect again. "I'm so sorry, Ariadne."

"It's not your fault," she whispered.

"Did they…?"

"Rape me?" Micah was alarmed at how nonchalant she sounded, how dead her voice was. "No, they didn't. Arthur got there just in time. But one of them managed to catch me with his knife. I don't think he meant to do it."

Cobb grimaced. "That wouldn't be good enough to stop Arthur."

"It wasn't enough to make him stay," Ariadne whispered.

Cobb paused at her tone. He reached forward and covered Ariadne's hand, also covering Micah's.

"Don't be upset with him," he said gently. "He just wants to make things right for you."

"Making things right would be staying with me," Ariadne said, her voice harder than it'd been since she'd been attacked. Her eyes flashed as she spoke. "He promised he would never leave me. But he just did."

Cobb looked at Micah, obviously unsure of what to say. Micah shrugged, indicating he had even less of an idea. Cobb chose to say nothing, instead opening the first aid kit again and finding a bottle of pills that Micah was certain were not part of the original kit. Cobb tossed the pills down dry.

"Cobb," Yusuf said. "Can you hold Arthur's shirt to the wound I haven't gotten to yet?" Micah saw why; blood was beginning to run down Ariadne's hip and skirt.

Cobb nodded, moving to the other side of Ariadne and leaning over her waist to press the shirt down. His gaze was focused as he studied the wound. Even though he expected nothing less from the whole team, Micah was impressed by how well they ignored Ariadne's state of near-nakedness.

"How many stitches?" He asked.

"I've done seven so far," Yusuf replied. Micah couldn't believe that; he'd barely gotten anywhere.

Cobb raised his eyebrows. "You're fast."

"I double as a doctor for the poor," Yusuf said. "Before I declared my major in Chemistry, I considered going into Pre-med. I've been told I have a talent for it."

"I'll say." Cobb looked at Micah. "Have you ever had stitches, Micah?"

"No," Micah admitted. "But my brother fell out of a tree when he was eleven, and he had to get ten stitches."

Cobb smiled. "It seems a little archaic and primal, but it's a quick and necessary fix."

"How many stitches have you had?" Micah wondered.

"Too many to count," Cobb murmured. "But not nearly as many as Arthur." He nodded at the shirt in his hands. "Judging by the fact I'm holding Arthur's shirt, I'd guess you now know what I'm talking about."

Micah grimaced. "I don't think I've ever seen so many scars on one person." He recalled the weird lacerations, the raised ridges of thick scars. "Some of them are pretty nasty."

Cobb smiled darkly. "You should see his legs."

"Why?" Micah asked, bewildered. "What's wrong with his legs?"

"Let's just say that if you think his chest and back are bad, you haven't really seen anything."

That didn't explain anything. "What happened to him?"

"I'll let him tell you the story. It's involved and deeply personal to him."

"I'm impressed he told you," Ariadne murmured.

Cobb and Micah looked at her, but her eyes were only on Cobb.

"He had to," Cobb admitted. "We were in Malaysia for a job once…It was ridiculously humid and hot, and we went out for a day, and I saw the scars… He didn't tell me then, but a couple of months later, he randomly decided I could know."

"He had to tell me, too," Ariadne murmured. Micah flushed when he thought of the circumstances that had led Ariadne to see Arthur's legs. Micah had never seen the man in anything other than a suit.

They lapsed into silence. Micah kept himself entertained by watching the tiny and smooth stitches work their way down Ariadne's torso. Yusuf remained hunched over the entire time, his eyes focused and sharp. Micah knew that a double-team of Yusuf and Arthur could probably handle any crisis.

After a long time (Micah lost track of the time, focused intently on what was happening in front of him) Yusuf had reached the end of Ariadne's wound. (Micah was also impressed at how still and seemingly okay Ariadne was even as Yusuf's hands drifted lower and lower, closer to _down there_.) He brought the needle up for a final time, looking relieved.

"There," he said, rewinding the remaining thread. He smiled warmly down at Ariadne. "All done."

She exhaled. "Thank you, Yusuf."

"Of course, my dear." He brought up a thick bandage and taped it on the wound, covering the ugly red and puckered skin. "Try not to overexert yourself by moving around too much. And don't get the wound wet for forty-eight hours. I'll check it then and see how it's doing. If all goes well, we can probably take these out in… Oh, say ten, eleven days. In the meantime, I'll arrange to give you a tetanus shot tomorrow morning and some antibiotics to fight infection."

"And I'll be completely okay?"

Yusuf nodded. "You're going to be perfect."

He was rewarded with a small smile. Cobb, who'd wandered away, returned with Arthur's black suit jacket. He held it out to Ariadne.

"I'd give you his shirt, but…" He nodded at the mostly-red shirt he'd left on the floor and shrugged.

Ariadne blushed. "Thanks." She started to sit up and Micah helped, letting her use his hands for support. Once she'd let him go, he reflexively shook his hands, trying to restart some blood flow. Ariadne glanced at her blouse, quickly realizing that thanks to the rip from the knife there was no point really in re-buttoning it, and pulled her arms through the jacket, buttoning it and then wrapping it around her chest.

Yusuf walked away, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash, along with the needle. He left the room, going to the small side bathroom to wash his hands, leaving Micah with Ariadne and Cobb.

"Yusuf has some pain medication," Cobb said gently, offering her the small bottle of pills as he spoke. "It'll help."

"Thanks," Ariadne murmured gratefully. Micah scurried to his desk and brought her his water bottle, guessing (accurately) that unlike Cobb (and probably Arthur as well) Ariadne did not swallow pills dry.

She swallowed the pills and ran a hand over her face, looking utterly exhausted and literally drained. Micah opened his mouth to remind her to drink fluids (Arthur's shirt told him that she'd lost plenty) but she must've known that, as she gulped down some more water.

Yusuf returned, and brought with him the remains of their dinner.

"Good, I see you're drinking," he said, revealing an additional two bottles of water. "You should eat as well."

"Okay," Ariadne said. Her eyelids looked heavy, but she took a bite of rice.

Yusuf seemed to be debating with himself. He eventually sighed, running a hand over his beard and turning to Cobb.

"So what happened?"

"I don't really know," Cobb admitted. "I remember I'd just dropped a bunch of cardboard in the dumpster, when I felt something slam into the back of my head. I blacked out after that."

"I heard you fall, and the crack from the impact," Ariadne said softly, poking at the food in front of her. "They hit you with a four by four. I turned around, and they rushed me. They shoved me against a wall. They were everywhere…" She trailed off, leaving the rest up to the imagination of the men around her.

"How did you know?" Cobb asked, turning to Micah and Yusuf. "Did you hear Ariadne?"

She shook her head. "One of them covered my mouth, I couldn't say anything."

Micah nodded. "Eames actually noticed you'd been gone for a while. Once he'd said that, Arthur realized something must've happened, and he tore out of here. We both saw those guys earlier, it didn't take long to connect the dots."

"They yelled at me earlier," Ariadne murmured in recognition.

Cobb shook back his sleeve to look at his watch. "How long have they-" He stopped talking at the sound of the door opening. Micah looked around and gasped.

You would've thought nothing else could've surprised Micah that night, but the sight of Arthur did that quite successfully.

He was still shirtless, his dark pants contrasting oddly with his light skin. But Micah's eyes were drawn to Arthur's chest. Some of the scars were blocked by the stains of dark red blood, blood that clearly did not belong to him. And Micah knew he hadn't gotten any of Ariadne's blood on him, which could only mean…

Eames followed behind, looking much more put-together than Arthur; his clothes were still clean. He hovered by the door, his eyes locked on Arthur as the point man stalked past everyone, going straight for the bathroom. His auburn eyes were oddly black and lifeless, the gun still clenched in his hand. The door slammed shut.

Eames spun around and marched straight to Cobb, his hand waving at the closed bathroom door.

"That man," he hissed in a low voice. "That man has fucking issues. I've said before that no one kills-"

"Kills?" Micah gasped before he could stop himself. Eames' eyes zeroed in on him, fierce.

"Yes, kills, Micah," Eames snapped. "I just stood there and watched as he killed them all. I think if I'd tried to help, I would've gotten shot or punched or beaten or strangled, too. He was insane. No one kills like Arthur, but this wasn't just killing. This was slaughter. A fucking massacre. I've never seen anything like it, and I never want to." He frowned, and looked at Ariadne, as if he'd just realized she was there. "Please don't take this badly, love. But your lover can be a goddamn… Animal. A killing machine."

Ariadne swallowed, but nodded. "I know."

"God, I hope not," Eames said fluidly. "It was like watching a violently explicit horror movie. There was so much blood. He only used that gun a couple times, and it was only to buy himself some time, to slow them down, by shooting them in the legs or the arms. There were eight bodies on the ground by the time he was done. Eight men. He killed them all by himself."

Micah was speechless. He'd known that Arthur was a talented fighter, but this… This was madness. He recalled the words Eames had said to him two days previously: "I know next-to-nothing about our friendly point man, but I do know this: he's been through hell."

Did that have anything to do with the mysterious circumstances that scarred Arthur's legs?

The door of the bathroom opened again, and Arthur reappeared. He'd cleaned the blood from his chest, and his expression had resolved itself somewhat. He looked human again.

Arthur walked towards them, aware of the fact everyone was staring at him. Micah looked away, to Ariadne. Her expression was a mixture of hurt and horror, and stayed that way, even when Arthur knelt in front of her. He didn't touch her, but stared up into her face.

He didn't mince words: "They're dead."

She took a deep breath. "I know. I won't thank you, though."

Arthur nodded. "I'm not surprised." He got up swiftly again, and spoke to Ariadne, whose eyes were downcast, looking at his knees. "You need to sleep. I'll drive you back to the hotel."

Before he'd finished speaking, everyone else had begun to move, going in separate directions. Eames went straight to Arthur and held out his suit jacket without a word; Arthur looked terribly conspicuous without a shirt. Eames then turned and walked to his desk and began closing down his laptop. Yusuf hurried to his work area and began replacing vials in their homes. Cobb touched Micah's shoulder as Arthur and Ariadne walked outside, Arthur still shirtless (Eames' jacket in his hand) and Ariadne still wrapped in his jacket. They weren't touching or talking.

"Eames will drive us back," he said. His expression made it clear: Leave them alone. Micah nodded and picked up his backpack. He didn't bother to wait, instead walking outside to wait by the car.

He froze just past the door though.

Arthur and Ariadne were standing by (what Micah guessed was) Arthur's rented car. Arthur was holding the passenger door, leaning on it and speaking to Ariadne, who stood before him.

"…what you're thinking," he finished, his voice so soft that Micah could barely hear. He knew he should move, give them privacy, but he felt rooted to the spot. They hadn't noticed him; it was too dark out.

"But I'm not sorry," Arthur continued. "And I don't regret it. It needed to be done."

Ariadne raised her head, looking at him. From the warehouse lights, Micah could see tears falling down her face. "For whose benefit? Mine or yours?"

"Both."

She shook her head furiously. "You're lying. You know you did it for yourself. I would never have asked for this. They shouldn't have died."

"They needed to," Arthur replied. "So nothing like this happens to anyone else. You know how close they were, if I'd gotten there just two minutes later... You don't want this to happen to anyone else, do you?"

Ariadne was quiet for a moment. "Of course not, but that doesn't justify it. Some of them were married, Arthur. Some of them had girlfriends, some even had children. Their wives and children will grieve because of what you just did."

Arthur took a deep breath and looked at his feet. "I know you hate me now," he said. Micah wanted nothing more than to wish this scene away, but he didn't dare move, in case they heard him and realized he was eavesdropping. Micah had a feeling that for all his kind words earlier, Arthur wouldn't handle that invasion of privacy well. Instead, he closed his eyes, but he couldn't block out Arthur's voice.

"I know you're wondering whether you can still love me," he continued tonelessly.

"Those murders were the worst thing you did tonight, but Arthur…You also left me," Ariadne rasped, sobbing now. "You left me. That's one of only a handful of things I was certain about: that you would never leave me. And you ruined that. You left me, when I needed you the most. You left me to go help yourself."

Micah saw Arthur's eyes close. "I'm sorry-"

"You're not," Ariadne said furiously, tightening her arms around herself as she spoke, shaking. "You said it yourself: you don't regret it. You would leave me again."

"No," Arthur said quickly. "No, Ari, I wouldn't leave you-" He reached out to her, but she stepped back.

"Don't fucking touch me," she snapped. Micah (and Arthur) was stunned by how easily the profanity fell from her lips. "I can't…" Her voice broke off as her sobs overtook her. Arthur looked at her, as if struggling with himself, fighting to not touch her.

"Please." Micah was shaken by his voice, how heartbroken it was. "Please, Ari. I need-"

"You need?" She asked, affronted. "This is all about what you need! You talk about how much you love me, how terrified you are of losing me, but all you've done is push me away. You've been keeping me at arm's length for days, no explanations why, you refuse to even listen to my ideas on how to help you, and you've been talking about letting me go, and…" She shook her head furiously, eyes closed tightly. "Maybe we both need some time by ourselves."

Arthur's face turned to complete sorrow. "No, Ari-"

"Arthur," she said. Her voice was stern now, recovering. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. Don't."

"Please don't do this," Arthur begged. His arms were limp at his sides, but his hands were clenched into fists. "I love you, I love you, I swear to God, I love you so much-"

"I know," Ariadne said. "But I…"

The grief on Arthur's face was devastating to watch; Micah couldn't imagine what it was like to bear. "You aren't sure whether you love me anymore," he finished.

"I do," Ariadne said forcefully. "I do. I just can't…" She shook her head, turning away. "I can't look at you right now. You've ruined all my trust in you. I feel like you're just somebody that I used to know."

"I'm the same man," Arthur pleaded, his voice wavering with emotion. His hands fluttered uselessly, his distress evident. "Oh, God, please, Ariadne-"

She shook her head. "No." She finally turned back to Arthur, and managed to face him. Micah was impressed that she didn't break down completely at the pure anguish on Arthur's face. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I just need some time." She closed her eyes. "You need time to work things out on your own, too."

He stilled; Micah was wondering if he was missing something, because Ariadne's last sentence had clearly had an effect on the point man.

"I see," Arthur said, his voice completely devoid of anything now. "I understand."

Ariadne nodded, her own expression stony, the tears glistening on her cheeks. "I'll get a ride with Edward."

"No," Arthur said. "I'll drive you back."

She nodded. "Okay. But I'll stay in Edward's room."

Arthur barely reacted, but the swallow he took showed how deep Ariadne's words cut. That was a blow. He stepped back with a nod. "As you wish. You know where to find me." Ariadne nodded and got into the car. Micah stepped further into the shadows and ran into something. He jumped and spun.

Eames was standing behind him.

The forger looked desolate, his eyes locked on the car. Micah slowly turned away as Arthur got in, slamming the door shut. He pulled away. Neither Micah nor Eames moved until the red taillights vanished down the road.

Eames sighed. "Well. I guess we need to hurry if Ariadne's staying with me." He looked at Micah. "Not a word of this to anyone else."

"Did they just break up?" Micah asked.

"If you can break up and still love each other like mad," Eames said. "Then yes, they did. It'll take a lot for Arthur to win Ariadne's forgiveness. She's always been against any kind of killing; that's just her nature. She probably hasn't heard much of Arthur killing anyone in the real world, either."

"But he has?"

Eames stilled. "Before tonight, I'd seen him kill two real people. One of them was in a fight with Arthur, and Arthur would've surely died if he hadn't killed the guy first. The other had a gun on me, and Arthur saved my life."

Micah swallowed. "This is terrible."

"Arthur does look pretty miserable," Eames agreed. "But so does Ariadne. They'll get through this."

"He can't live without her," Micah spoke without thinking.

Eames looked at him. "What makes you say that?"

Micah backtracked quickly. "I… I've never seen anyone look at someone like Arthur looks at Ariadne. It's bewildering."

"Not bewildering," Eames corrected. He led Micah to the car as Yusuf and Cobb exited the warehouse, speaking quietly to another. Eames tossed his bag in the truck and spun to face Micah. His next words delivered another blow to Micah, as he wondered just how much the forger understood

"It's not bewildering. It's just love. And it will be the death of him."

**Review, please...**


	19. You Really Got A Hold On Me

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**The last chapter certainly got a response! Sorry I bummed some of you out... I guess that means the characters are real enough to sympathize with? Thanks to Iole17, Nina.4444, Guest and Equilly for reviewing, and to anyone who favorited.**

**I keep saying this but, it's important: I don't write anything superfluous. There's a reason something happened, or why someone thought that, or why they said that. It may not seem clear now, but it will be later. I like to keep you guessing. Or something.**

**Chapter title from the song originally by Smokey Robinson but most famously covered by the Beatles, though I dig the She & Him version too.**

You Really Got A Hold On Me

Sunday, October 9, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Kyoto Grand: Ariadne

For one blissful moment the next morning, Ariadne woke up and couldn't remember as to why she felt so awful.

She was lying in a nice bed, sure, but one that was a bit smaller than the one she'd been in for the past few nights. The walls were the same color, but the paintings were different. The room itself was smaller overall. Ariadne digested this for a moment when she realized what had woken her up: a searing pain along her right side.

The memories of the night before washed over her.

_The crack of Cobb being knocked out…The feel of the men's hands as they shoved her to the wall, pressing, grabbing her… The horror of a hand slapped over her mouth, the terror of what was surely about to happen…_

And then enormous relief: Because Arthur had arrived, and she'd known she was going to be okay.

Ariadne blinked, feeling several tears slide down her face in response. The pain in her shifted from the right, to the left, a distressed lurch in her heart. The whole organ felt oddly heavy, almost like it'd been shattered…

_Oh_.

She remembered what happened. How one moment, Arthur's face had been over hers, talking to her, commanding, offering support: "_Breathe with me… Look at me._" And she had, listening to him, hanging on to his voice like a lifeline. She'd clutched his hands in desperation as Yusuf put her back together, the feel of him the only real thing in the world.

And then… abandonment. He left her. Even with Yusuf dressing her wound and Micah holding her hands, she'd never felt so alone. And why had he left her?

To murder.

Ariadne wasn't a fool; she knew what Arthur had done in his past, how many people he'd killed. She told herself that those circumstances had been different, that he hadn't had a choice, that the people he had killed were bad. She wasn't denying that her attackers weren't bad; but she couldn't justify their deaths, especially when she was going to be okay. It hadn't been life or death. Arthur had killed in cold blood.

It was those two horrible things—his abandonment, his murders—that had been the catalysts in her decision to-

She stopped the thought. She couldn't stomach the idea that she'd broken up with Arthur.

But was that the truth? She wondered…

Arthur had driven her back to the hotel last night, the silence creating a canyon of irresolution and despair between them. The distance had been unbearable, and she'd actually been pleased at the way Arthur ignored all speed limits; he'd torn down the highway, reaching the hotel in record time.

They'd walked through the lobby, drawing numerous stares at their appearance. Arthur looked skinnier and gaunter than usual, with Eames' much bigger suit jacket hanging off his frame. Ariadne looked like a misbehaving sorority girl, the way she held Arthur's coat around her. It didn't help that they both looked dazed and supremely unhappy.

The elevator ride had been blissfully quick, and then Arthur was opening the door to their room. Ariadne had hesitated in the doorway as he walked in, going straight to the small refrigerator by the bar. He opened it and began to pull out mini bottles of liquor, setting them out without pause.

Ariadne had turned away, unwilling to watch Arthur self-medicate. Instead she'd gone to their room, grateful for the first time that she hadn't unpacked her suitcase. That had made it quite easy for her to gather the few clothes that she'd worn and to toss them inside, zipping the suitcase closed and dragging it out of the room.

When she'd reached the living room, it was to find Arthur no longer in it. The doors to the balcony had been opened, and she could see his lanky form standing outside there, Eames' coat hung off a chair. He'd been hunched over the railing, a glass in hand. He didn't turn, but she knew he could hear her, and that he knew she was there.

She'd paused, words swirling in her mind: _You know why I'm leaving… You know that I still love you, I just don't know how or what to do at this point…_

And the strongest: _Say something… anything… that will make me stay._

She'd hovered by the front door for several moments, during which Arthur hadn't turned, instead choosing to keep his back to her. She'd wondered what his face looked like, and wondered then if she should be glad she couldn't see it.

Ariadne had then taken a deep breath: and walked out of the hotel room.

Eames had been sorry to see her, but not surprised; Ariadne surmised that Eames had guessed as much might happen after seeing her earlier reaction. Instead, the forger had put a comforting arm around her and showed her to the extra bedroom in his suite.

Which brought her to the present moment, lying in bed, her heart and her side hurting in equal measure.

She sighed, wincing as the movement of her lungs jostled her new stitches. Time to face the day.

Ariadne got up, wincing more, before eventually becoming used to the pain that was entwined with any movement. She'd gone to bed in a pair of teal shorts and a plain baggy t-shirt, wisely choosing what she was most comfortable in. As she made to leave the room, her eye caught on Arthur's suit jacket, still on the floor, where she'd left it the night before.

She paused, and rather unaware, walked over to it. She knelt, picking it up, running her hands down the familiar texture of the expensive cloth. Without considering why, she lifted it to her nose and inhaled at the collar. The calming scents of aftershave and something unique she couldn't put a name to, greeted her, and she took another long inhale, like a drug addict taking a hit. It still smelled like him, and that was more comforting than anything.

Ariadne was forced to relinquish her hold on the jacket a moment later, as the pain of kneeling caught up to her. She left it on her bed, tucked neatly, as if Arthur had only just set it down.

She was surprised to see that Eames was already awake, sprawled on the couch and drinking coffee. He'd already changed, returning to his favorite uniform of khaki pants, pressed dark blue dress shirt and tan jacket. He raised his eyebrows when he spotted Ariadne and lowered his newspaper.

"Good morning, sunshine," he intoned. He smiled, but Ariadne couldn't find the will or desire to respond.

"Not a morning person, then," Eames amended. He got to his feet as Ariadne walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Eames hovered nearby as Ariadne dragged herself onto a stool.

He fixed her with his stare. "How did you sleep?"

"Terribly," Ariadne grumbled.

Eames nodded; his calm response told her he wasn't surprised in the slightest. He probably would've been floored if she'd said she'd slept wonderfully. "Must've been strange not having Arthur beside you."

She frowned, and slowly lowered her mug. "I slept badly because of my numerous stitches, Eames, the stitches that run the whole of my torso."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose that would be hard as well."

"What are you doing today?" Ariadne asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Well, I'm going to work on forging Maurice Fischer," Eames said, leaning on his elbows as Ariadne took steady sips of coffee, trying to ignore the discomfort it presented in her body. "Might bring Cobb into it to judge me and give me pointers. That'll take a while, but…" He trailed off. Ariadne looked up, startled to see his blue eyes were staring at her. "But I was thinking I would treat my favorite architect to breakfast, first."

She shook her head. "Edward, you don't have to do that. Besides, I've got three levels to build-"

"-And you were brutally stabbed yesterday," Eames interrupted. "If anyone deserves a break, you do, Ariadne. I already spoke to Yusuf. It'll take him a couple hours to get the medication you need, so even if you were to start work now, you won't be in top form to design the levels. And we wouldn't want that, would we, love?"

Ariadne almost smiled. "No, we wouldn't." She paused, swirling the coffee around. "Thank you, Edward. For letting me sleep here, and… everything."

He studied her for a long moment. Ariadne could see him debating inwardly, struggling through several different patterns of speech. Clearly, something was eating at him. He settled for inclining his head.

"We'll talk about that over croissants and strawberries," he said. "Now go get dressed. Remember, no showering."

She rolled her eyes. "That's so unfortunate." He chuckled as she left the room.

Ariadne was faced with an interesting dilemma, she realized, as she opened her suitcase. The vast majority of her clothes were jeans, which were fairly snug and ran right where the stitches ended on her hip. She brushed her fingers over the edge of the bandage and was rewarded with the confirmation that it was still tender. She had a few skirts, but the problem was similar… She scowled before remembering she'd packed a single dress. She smiled and dug it out of the depths of her bag.

It was a summer dress, patterned off-white lace that required a slip under it. She'd bought it the summer before the Fischer job last year, while combing a thrift shop at home in Montreal. She'd fallen in love with it right away, and had been wearing it ever since, though usually only in the summer.

And today, she thought, finding a simple leather belt and a pair of her ankle-high boots to go with it.

Eames smiled widely when he saw her, whistling softly.

"You look lovely," he informed her, holding the door open. She blushed, but smiled in return.

"You are buying me breakfast," she reminded him.

Eames nodded, chuckling as they reached the elevator. "So my reward is a lace dress?" She rolled her eyes and he laughed more.

Eames' rented car was a jeep, bigger and more spacious than Arthur's sedan. Ariadne managed to haul herself inside and glanced around it as Eames pulled out of the hotel lot.

"Why a jeep?" She wondered.

"I've always liked jeeps," he explained. "Not too swanky, but they've got a certain flair I enjoy. Plus, I had to keep the size of our party in mind, didn't I?"

"That's considerate of you," Ariadne remarked.

Eames took her to a small breakfast café in the heart of downtown Los Angeles, surrounded on either side by giant skyscrapers that Ariadne studied with interest as he led her to the restaurant. They were given a seat by the street window, and Ariadne watched several cars pass by, horns honking.

"I was thinking pancakes," Eames said, interrupting Ariadne's silent contemplation of the world outside. "Maybe even blueberry. I'm feeling crazy. How about you, love?"

She spoke without emotion: "It's incredible, isn't it."

"What is, love?"

She nodded at the streets, the people in work clothes and expensive suits. "Look at them. All these people, millions, going about their lives without any clue as to what people like us are up to. How, at any moment, we can pull any of them into a dream where we will steal their darkest and deepest secrets… And then they'll wake up and be unable to remember what happened."

Eames' expression was hesitant. "Yes, that's true… Ariadne, what-"

"It's so hard to realize that," she murmured. "This life is so… It's so ridiculous, Edward. I can't understand it. I can't."

Their waitress appeared at that moment. Eames kept his eyes on Ariadne as he ordered both of them blueberry pancakes alongside fruit and scrambled eggs, along with a pot of tea. As soon as the waitress had left, he leaned forward, taking her hand.

"Ariadne, listen to me very carefully," Eames said softly. "You're right. You're absolutely right. This life is very unstable and toes the line of madness and creativity like nothing else can. Very few people are suited to it."

She fixed him with a glare. "And you are?"

"Definitely," Eames said furtively. "There's nothing else I'd rather do than this. It's very much my calling."

"And… And everybody else?"

She tried, but Eames was no fool: he knew very well by her tone that when she said 'everybody else' she was really speaking of Arthur. Eames smiled sadly, and took hold of her hand.

"Ariadne," he said gently. "There is no one in the world who makes a better point man than Arthur. When Cobb says he's the best, he means it. And hear it from my lips: Arthur is irreplaceable. He is utterly singular and matchless in his work. I've worked with a dozen point men, and Arthur is the only one I know I can trust to get me out of there in one piece. So to answer your question: Yes, I think Arthur is working in the right field for himself."

Ariadne nodded, Eames' words resonating with her. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd asked. She just knew that Arthur was becoming a different person, someone she couldn't understand. She needed to be reminded that it wasn't this life choice that was destroying him.

"Edward," she breathed. "You knew Arthur had retired."

"I'd heard it through the grapevine, yes."

She took a deep breath, deciding she needed to tell him, to explain things. "Why did you think he retired?"

Eames shrugged and leaned back in his chair in thought. The waitress returned with tea, and Eames wasted no time in pouring them glasses. Eames spoke once she'd left.

"I figured he'd decided he'd rather teach," he said slowly. "I knew Arthur met Mal at Paris Descartes, and that they were both students at the time. Arthur's a great teacher, though I don't need to tell you that. With that photographic memory and patience, he's very good. I guessed he must've gotten one hell of an offer. Not to mention, Arthur has only worked without Cobb a handful of times. I thought he might've decided to retire because Cobb did. That maybe he didn't want to work without him."

Ariadne absorbed this. "You thought it out."

"I was very surprised. Arthur's not that old." He paused. "I don't need specifics, but please, I'm dying to know: how old is he?"

She didn't see the con in telling him. "He turned thirty a few months back."

Eames' eyebrows shot up. "Thirty? Really? He looks older than that."

"You think so?"

"Mm-hmm," Eames replied distantly. "I suppose that can be chalked up to the hair and suits though. He also carries himself like an older man. Dreaming will do that to you." He paused, as if remembering the beginning of the conversation. "Why did you ask me what I'd thought about Arthur's retirement?"

She took a deep breath. "Edward, Arthur retired to be with me."

He stared at her. She studied her tea for a moment, looking at the way the leaves had settled, before finding the courage to face Eames again. The forger looked dumbfounded.

"Are you serious?" He asked.

"I never asked him to," Ariadne said, speaking as if to a wall, and not a person, and not at all Eames. "We'd only been dating for seven weeks, we were back in Paris… I was working on my degree still, and Arthur was spending his days wandering the city and meeting with Miles. He showed up at my apartment one night to tell me that he was going to take a position at the Paris Descartes University, as a dream researcher."

Eames ran his hand over his face. "I see."

"I'm saying all this," Ariadne continued. "Because I've never fully believed that Arthur has been satisfied living without shared dreaming. Living without that work. He never did it for the money, Edward. He always did it because he honestly loved it. He gave it all up."

"Maybe because he wants you more," Eames suggested softly.

Ariadne closed her eyes. "I thought so. And we were doing fine, great really, until Cobb showed up. And now Arthur's a whole other person. He's been sucked back into it, and it was so hard for him to leave it last time…"

"He'll do it again," Eames said urgently. "Believe it, Ariadne. When all this is over-"

"-When all this is over, we'll be over," Ariadne snapped. "He won't forgive me for any of this, the things I've said and done, and I don't know if I can forgive him for any of it either."

"Then that's a shame," Eames said, just as fiercely. "Because you both love each other so goddamn much, and throwing that away would be a waste."

"Edward, he killed them," Ariadne said. Her voice wavered a little, but she powered on, determined to not cry. "He killed them. He knew how I would feel about that, you all did. And he still did it; for himself."

Their waitress arrived, bringing them their pancakes. Even after she'd left, neither Eames nor Ariadne spoke. They didn't even touch their food. Ariadne kept her eyes on Eames, as he considered her words. Several moments passed.

"I know," he said at last. "You have every right to be mad. It'd even be quite understandable if you never forgave him and never took him back. But I dearly hope you do."

"I don't know if I can."

"Think about it, please," Eames said hotly. "Because that man loves you more than his own life, and you are torturing him right now." He stopped talking at the look on Ariadne's face. "My apologies. That was harsh."

"But honest." She looked at her pancakes, wondering if she was about to throw up.

Eames picked up his knife and fork and began sawing away at the pancakes. "I want to ask you something deeply personal, and you absolutely do not have to tell me, but I am very, very curious." Ariadne stared, interested, as Eames paused. She knew he was obviously debating, trying to decide what to say.

"Through my observations of Arthur, drawn through working with the man several times," Eames said. "I have come to ascertain only a handful of things about him. He's bloody brilliant; not just because I now know he must've been to enter Harvard at sixteen years old, but because I've seen him work. He knows a ridiculous amount of information, and maybe that can solely be attributed to that photographic memory of his, but… I digress. I also know that Arthur has a very dark past. I assume you know of it-" Ariadne opened her mouth to tell him she wouldn't say anything about that, but he waved his hand. "-No, I don't need to hear about it. I'll let Arthur decide when the time, if ever, is right to tell me. But I also know this: that even if his morals can get a little askew, at his core, he is a gentleman. He is a good person, and he likes to do right by the people he cares about, like yourself and Cobb, and as far as I'm aware, that is it. So, my dear, my question is this: why hasn't Arthur married you yet?"

She almost laughed out loud, the question was so unexpected. "That's what you want to know?"

"Arthur fascinates me," Eames admitted, swallowing some pancakes and lathering the rest with more syrup. "I understand he plays by his own personal rules, but I also know that when he decides something, it is very difficult to change his mind. He's decided that he loves you dearly. Why hasn't he married you?"

"We've…" Ariadne paused, choosing her words carefully. "We've discussed it. He hasn't, you know, asked or anything, but he brought it up over the summer."

"Aha," Eames said, smiling. "So he wants to."

"Yes, he wants to," Ariadne confirmed. Does he still? She wondered. "And I told him that I wanted to wait, at least until after I'd graduated and started working at an architecture firm. I want to establish myself in the industry first."

Eames nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

"He said that too," Ariadne said. "And he told me he would wait, that he agreed I should probably be older."

"How old are you?"

She laughed. "Another deeply personal question, hm, Edward?" She didn't wait for his response. "I turned twenty-three last summer."

"Good lord," Eames muttered. "Seven year age difference. That's rebellious of you."

She shrugged. "It's just a fact. It doesn't change or effect anything."

"Oh, I know," Eames agreed heartily. "Do me a favor, love: when you do marry Mr. Zaleski, please invite me. I would be too happy to witness that. Also, please don't take his name, yours is so much better."

Ariadne sighed, setting her fork down as a wave of despair washed over her. "I don't know if that'll happen anymore, Edward."

"Arthur said he would wait, and he will. He'd wait another thirty years to marry you if you asked him to."

"The situation is a little different now, Edward," she reminded him.

He shook his head stubbornly. "Maybe. But I think you're both going to hate this break you're on. I can tell right now how anxious and pained you are, and I really don't think it has much to do with those stitches. I can't even imagine how Arthur looks this morning."

"Please, don't," Ariadne murmured.

"Alright, I won't. But think about it. I'm rooting for you two." He winked at her and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Paging Dr. Eames," she joked. "You're a bit of a therapist."

"I did major in psychology," Eames said.

She shook her head. "No, it goes deeper than that. You forget, Arthur did that too, but he would never be able to give out this sympathy. You must have personal experience." She paused, wondering if she was about to ruin the moment with her question. "Edward, were you ever, you know… married?"

She didn't think he would answer, he didn't speak for so long. Instead, he swallowed several bites of pancakes, staring at his plate while she watched him. Ariadne was about to apologize when he spoke again.

"I was."

Her mouth fell open a little, very unattractive-like. "You were? When? What was her name?"

"Slow down there," Eames said, lifting his hands in a universal 'slow' gesture. "One at a time." He recalled her firestorm of questions. "Yes, I was married. I got married when I was twenty-five and I stayed that way until I was thirty-one. I'm thirty-four now, so my marriage is still a pretty recent event. And her name was Isabel."

"Isabel," Ariadne repeated. "What did she look like?"

"Does, she's not dead," Eames said quickly. "No disturbing Mal comparison here. Isabel is very tall, and very skinny: they used to call her a beanpole, and all that. She has very white blond hair, and the last I saw, it was in a pixie cut. I always loved it short, too. Her eyes are a very dark blue, much darker than mine. Her skin is quite fair, but she's got a couple freckles on her shoulders, and a birthmark in the shape of a vase on her left wrist."

"How did you meet?"

"Oxford," Eames said. "She was there to study mathematics; she's one of the most brilliant people I've ever met, she'd even rival Arthur. We started dating when we were both twenty. She stuck with me even when I got into dream sharing."

"Did she know?"

He nodded sadly. "Yes, I had to tell her. She took it pretty well, actually. She was very supportive."

Ariadne was bewildered. "So what happened?"

"Well, the jobs started to become more frequent, and I had to go farther for them," Eames said in a somber tone. He was still eating, but Ariadne guessed it was so he didn't have to look her in the eye. "And she didn't like that. She gave me an ultimatum: my work or her. I tried to compromise, saying I would come home more, but she called me on my bullshit. She knew I would keep gambling with it all. One night, she packed all her things and left. I didn't know until I got back from China and the house was half-empty."

"Edward…" Ariadne was floored. She'd never heard this story, never had guessed it. She reached across the table and gripped his hand. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged, as if shaking off a flea. "I've largely recovered. We don't really keep in touch though… It was hard for her, too. I ask Arthur to keep tabs on her."

Ariadne stared. "Arthur knows?"

"Arthur knows everything," Eames said dismissively. "The very first job we worked on, he told me that. And sure enough, he pulled out this massive file on me, with all these photos of Isabel…" Eames shrugged again, but in a more relaxed way. "I have to hand it to him. Even if he knows everything, he doesn't spread anything around. He didn't even tell you."

"He shouldn't have," Ariadne said. "This is really personal. But Arthur keeps an eye on her for you?"

"Just making sure she's doing okay," Eames clarified. "He told me she moved down to Cambridge a year ago. She's working in their math department, making her way up to head. She always was good at planning and overseeing." He smirked at Ariadne. "You must think I'm a creep, hm?"

She shook her head. "I think that's really sweet, actually."

"Good, I'd hate for you to see me as a psychopath," Eames said in an aloof manner. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold sapphire ring. Ariadne's eyes locked on it as he lifted it up to face-level.

"My totem," he explained. Ariadne withdrew her hand, which had been reaching for it and Eames nodded in response. "It's her engagement ring. The only thing of hers she left behind when she moved out. I almost sent it to her parents, to give back to her, but I decided to keep it. It does make a good totem."

"It's lovely," Ariadne murmured.

Eames nodded in agreement. "Isabel isn't very flashy, but she loved sapphires." He tapped the skin around his right eye in response. "They remind her of my eyes, or so she said."

Ariadne was overwhelmingly touched. "Edward, I'm so sorry."

"Again, don't be, my dear. I made my choice and she made hers. We're square."

But something about the way he pocketed the ring suggested something else entirely to Ariadne. They sat in silence, still holding hands, consumed by their own thoughts. Ariadne's mind was in a flurry, imagining Eames and Isabel, his ex-wife. Eames had chosen his work over her, which was the exact opposite of what Arthur had done. It'd ruined Eames' marriage, and now it looked like Arthur's choice was all for moot, as their relationship was on the rocks.

So what was the right choice here?

**My version of Eames' backstory. Sad. Sorry about all the marriage fluff, but it made a nice segue into a topic Eames never talks about.**

**In other news: This is officially the halfway point of the story.**

**Review, please.**


	20. House of Cards

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**I had so many reviews for the last chapter! Color me thrilled! Kudos to Shanynde, the two Guests, cinematherapy, recey2010 and Iole17. A special thanks to insanityisgenius: you're right. I wrote this story for me only, though I do care about people who read it. :)**

**Song title from Radiohead...**

House of Cards

Sunday, October 9, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Warehouse: Eames

Eames was proud of the fact that he'd managed to have a real heart-to-heart with Ariadne, but he was still feeling shaken about how much he'd revealed. He'd never discussed Isabel with a team member, save for Arthur, and that conversation had been succinct and basic.

_"You have a wife. Isabel Fletcher, an associate professor of mathematics at University College London. You met at Oxford and married a few years after."_

_"I'm impressed."_

_"I'm not going to tell anyone. That's not the way I work. I just wanted you to know that I know."_

_"I appreciate the warning… Arthur, right?"_

True to his word, Eames now knew for certain that Arthur had never told anyone. If he had, that person would surely have been Ariadne, and she clearly hadn't known.

I should thank him, Eames thought. He turned away from his laptop, looking for the point man.

Arthur was sitting at his desk, poring over a thick reference book. His eyes were locked on it, his expression serious and focused. His fingers were tapping out a restless beat on the table as his eyes took in the pages. Eames knew his photographic memory just needed a few moments to analyze and intake the whole thing. Sure enough, Arthur turned the page, far too soon for someone average to read.

Eames looked away from Arthur to the desk nearest his, where Cobb and Micah were leaned over. Cobb was explaining guns to Micah, whose experience with was limited to hunting rifles. As he watched, Cobb lifted the barrel of a smaller handgun, demonstrating how to use a silencer. Micah nodded, taking it all in.

Across the room, Ariadne was seated at her desk, measuring out thick pieces of cardboard with a ruler. As he watched, she moved, shuffling around for a better angle, never staying still for a second. She'd tied her dark brown hair back in a messy knot to keep it from falling into her eyes, her lace dress swirling as she moved.

Eames looked across the room, and sure enough, Arthur had glanced up from his book. His eyes were glued to her, his expression the perfect poker face.

Eames and Ariadne had arrived at the warehouse several hours earlier, after their brunch; they'd both been feeling a little emotionally drained after their talk, and Eames' arm had been hung around Ariadne's shoulders in comfort. Cobb, Micah and Arthur had all already been there, working hard. While Cobb had cast a polite nod at Eames and studied Ariadne before nodding in satisfaction that she was okay, Micah had bounded over, his face full of concern. Ariadne had quickly assured him she was fine, while Micah relayed a message from Yusuf: the chemist had gone out to try and find a doctor who would be willing to sell him a tetanus shot.

"He has his license from Kenya, but he knows not everyone will accept that," the boy had warned them.

And then there was Arthur, who'd followed Micah to greet their visitors. His auburn eyes had largely glossed over Eames (who had just then realized that Arthur might not be so friendly towards him anymore, what with Ariadne staying in his room and all) before settling on Ariadne.

"How are you feeling?" His tone was casual, but guarded. His eyes flickered to the arm Eames' had over Ariadne's shoulder, but Eames didn't remove it and Arthur didn't comment.

It was like they were mere acquaintances. Ariadne had acknowledged his soft concern with a simple nod. "I'm fine. A little sore, but overall, good."

He'd nodded as well. "I'm glad to hear it. Don't hesitate to ask for anything, okay?"

She'd blinked. "I'll keep it in mind." And then they'd parted, going to their different desks, across the room from the other's. Micah's eyes had slid to Eames', and he knew his own worry and stress was magnified in Micah's. Both Ariadne and Arthur were being very cool, obviously not ready to move on and let go.

The door of the warehouse suddenly opened and Yusuf appeared, his bag slung over his shoulder and sweat on his brow. He smiled widely when he spotted Ariadne.

"Oh, good, you're here," he said warmly. "Come take a seat."

She hurried over to where he'd camped on one of the long beach chairs, sitting on the one next to him. "You got it?"

"And a little to spare," Yusuf confirmed. "Plus the antibiotics you need to prevent infection. I'll check your stitches now too, just to make sure nothing has broken or come undone."

Ariadne nodded and reached for her shirt, only to pause as she remembered she was wearing a dress. She opened her mouth, but stopped, realizing everyone else had already noticed. Cobb stepped to the door, Micah following; the extractor mentioned something about taking Micah outside for shooting practice.

Eames put his headphones on and leaned close to his laptop, blocking out most of Ariadne. He could see when she stood and undid her belt, letting it fall to the floor, before reaching behind her for the long zipper of her dress.

"That's…" Even with his headphones on and Maurice Fischer's voice ringing in his ears, Eames could hear Yusuf's low comment. "That much movement isn't good for your stitches, I'm afraid. Maybe I-"

"Here." Arthur was suddenly there, standing directly behind Ariadne. She lowered her arms as he took hold of the zipper, pulling it down to her waist. He then did the same with the zipper on the slip she wore underneath. He didn't even blink as Ariadne stepped out of the dress, though he did take a small step back to give her space. Eames focused on Arthur, aware that Ariadne was now wearing very little.

Yusuf's voice sounded almost amused when he spoke again. Eames realized that Yusuf hadn't witnessed Ariadne and Arthur's break-up scene (or whatever the hell it should be called) of the night before. "I don't really need to be here, do I? You know as much as I do about stitches and shots, don't you, Arthur?"

"Yes," Arthur said softly. Yusuf remained seated, rifling through his bag for the medicine and needle as Arthur stepped around Ariadne, looking at her with a blank expression. Eames couldn't help himself and surreptitiously straightened as Arthur kneeled in front of Ariadne.

It was an odd scene: there was Arthur, in his black three-piece suit (though he wasn't wearing his jacket, having left it at his desk), kneeling in front of Ariadne, who was only wearing a strapless white bra and panties. His hands were slow, gentle, as he peeled back the bandage that covered the line along her side. The stitches were ugly and red, and Eames thought they looked terrible, but Arthur only nodded.

"They're straight," he commented to Yusuf, who was listening. "Nothing's broken open."

Yusuf looked pleased, returning to preparing the shot. "Excellent."

Ariadne swallowed, her eyes on Arthur. "Are you done?"

"Yes," Arthur said. He picked up the new bandage, carefully pressing it down over the long cut. Ariadne watched, amazingly still, her eyes focused on his head.

Eames felt funny watching the scene, and he wasn't entirely sure why. He had a few theories, but he focused on one he felt was most likely: the whole scene was painfully intimate and sorrowful, all by the fact that these were two people who weren't sure where they stood with the other. He assumed that was why his chest felt so tight.

Arthur finished, getting to his feet as Ariadne pulled her dress back on. She reached for the zippers, but Arthur's hands beat her there. He was once again standing behind her, guiding the zippers back to the top. He finished zipping her lace dress, and reached down, picking up her belt. Without a word, he reached around Ariadne, his head hovering over her shoulder as he belted it in front for her.

Ariadne looked straight ahead, as if she was trying to ignore his presence. "Thank you."

As if he couldn't help himself, he bent his head, placing a light kiss on the back of her neck, underneath her knot of hair. His lips hovered right by her ear, and Eames heard his whispered words even from where he was sitting: "My pleasure."

The odd tightening in his chest increased.

She swallowed again, and Eames saw the emotion well up in her eyes. She didn't say anything though, leaving Arthur standing as she sat back down, holding out her bare left arm. Yusuf took it in his hand and carefully injected her with the tetanus vaccine.

"There," he said, placing a cotton ball over the miniscule hole and taping it. "And then these are for you." He held out a bottle of pills, and Ariadne took them. "Take one with breakfast and dinner."

"Thank you, Yusuf," Ariadne murmured.

"You're welcome," Yusuf said. He accepted Arthur's curt nod of thanks with a smile, and walked to his desk, flicking on the light switch above it.

That left Arthur and Ariadne alone in the center of the room together. Ariadne got to her feet and faced him. Her expression was honest, her eyes large and still a little wet. Arthur stared back, his own face impassive. Eames waited, certain that at any moment now, they would grab each other and start to kiss passionately right in front of him. He wasn't looking forward to seeing that.

But nothing even remotely close happened. Instead, Ariadne lowered her eyes. Arthur took that as a farewell and turned, retreating to his desk. Ariadne watched him go before going to her own. Eames frowned, bizarrely relieved, returning to his work as the door opened and Cobb and Micah walked back inside.

An hour passed before Cobb approached Eames. The extractor looked serious. "Are you ready to try this out?"

"Might as well," Eames said. He hopped to his feet and followed Cobb to the center of the room, where they kept the PASIV. Eames rolled back the sleeve of his dress shirt, and looked up, happening to catch Micah's eye.

He patted the chair beside him. "Why don't you come along, Mr. Harper? You'll need to see this sometime."

Micah didn't need to be asked twice. He scurried over, accepting the needle offered to him by Cobb. Cobb leaned over, but Micah shook his head. He carefully inserted his own needle.

"Impressive," Cobb murmured. "You can do that now."

"Arthur taught me earlier," Micah murmured. Eames glanced at the point man, but he was engrossed in his books again.

Cobb paused over the plunger. "All set?" Both Eames and Micah nodded and Cobb pressed it down.

It was Cobb's dream, and he'd brought them to a conference room in a skyscraper overlooking a fictional city. Eames studied the view, impressed. It reminded him of both Bangkok and Dublin, a combination he'd never imagined before. Cobb really did have an incredible gift.

"This is amazing," he said aloud.

Cobb joined him at the window. "It's passable. You should see the cities Ariadne can build. She makes this look like a child's attempt."

"We all know she's in a higher class than any of us," Eames muttered. He turned away from the long line of windows, looking at the rest of the room. Micah was gawking at an over-the-top abstract painting that looked like it'd been put-together by a very young child.

"My son made that," Cobb said, and Eames realized his thoughts were correct.

Micah spun around. "What is it?"

"I don't know. What does it look like to you?"

"Um…" Micah studied the painting. "A six-legged dog, maybe."

Cobb chuckled. "Which it very well may be. James has an active imagination; he's a lot like me in that sense. Philippa is a lot more analytical, and careful. Logical. She's like Mal."

"Mal wasn't all business all the time though," Eames recalled. He'd met Mal before, on a couple different occasions. He'd even worked with her once, on one job that had included both Cobb and Arthur. Needless to say, they'd easily completed the job. "She could get very creative when she needed to. Philippa reminds me more of Arthur."

"Arthur can be creative," Cobb said, defending his close friend. "He had to improvise that kick in the Fischer job, remember?"

Micah looked interested. "How?"

"He dropped us down an elevator shaft," Eames recalled. "I still can't believe it worked."

"But it did, and we made it out," Cobb said. "That's all that matters." He stepped back from Eames, crossing his arms over his chest. Micah wandered over to stand beside him. "Let's see it."

Eames nodded and turned to the set of mirrors conveniently located in the room. He faced his reflection, running his eyes over his familiar features, taking it in. Then he closed his eyes and took a calming breath. Micah's loud gasp from behind him told him he'd been successful.

He opened his eyes, finding himself face-to-face with Maurice Fischer. But while Maurice had been ailing for months before he died, Eames was Maurice still healthy and well. He had clipped gray hair, and wore an expensive suit complete with blood red tie. Eames ran his hands over his face, thinking, before he spun to face his audience.

"Well?"

"Awesome!" Micah cajoled. "Holy shit, you weren't kidding. This is called forgery in the dream world?"

Eames/Maurice nodded. "Yes. Pretty wild, huh, kid?" His voice sounded all wrong.

Cobb was more critical. "Your posture isn't quite right. And you're using a modern American accent. You need to listen more closely, because Maurice would've spoken with old American English."

"Excellent, that's what I needed to know," Eames said. "Anything else?"

"Your eyes don't match exactly," Cobb said, studying Eames' eyes. Eames spun around, immediately noticing what Cobb was talking about. "And your hands look too familiar; it's like you've combined his and yours."

Eames nodded again. "I see."

"Otherwise…" Cobb shook his head. "I'm impressed, Eames. This is nothing short of miraculous, considering you've only been studying Maurice for a few days."

"Not to mention the fact that it's a dead man I've been studying, with no chance at the real thing," Eames muttered. "But I appreciate the support, Cobb."

Cobb smirked. "Good. I'm glad we did this. But now, I need you two to tell me what the hell is going on with Arthur and Ariadne."

There was a long pause, during which Eames stared at Cobb, and Micah stared at Eames.

"It's that obvious?" Eames wondered.

"That they're behaving oddly?" Cobb clarified. "Yes, it's obvious. They aren't touching each other, they're barely acknowledging the other. Is it obvious that you two know something? Yes, because you're both taking it in stride. I'm the only one who's confused here."

Micah gulped, looking at Eames, clearly telling him to take the question.

"Arthur and Ariadne are in a bit of a falling-out," he said gently.

"Falling-out?" Micah repeated. "I thought they broke up." Cobb's eyes widened in alarm and Eames glared at Micah. He hadn't wanted to say that much.

Cobb looked stunned. "They broke up?"

"Not…officially," Eames grunted. "They had a fight last night before we left, about how Arthur killed those men and left Ariadne to do so… Some words were said… She spent the night in my suite."

"My God," Cobb whispered. "Dammit. _Dammit_."

Cobb looked far too distressed for an outsider. Eames stared at him. "You aren't taking this well."

"No, and surely you see why," he said. Eames didn't, and Cobb answered.

"This is all my fault," Cobb said urgently. "For so many reasons. For not paying attention and getting knocked out last night, for one… But it goes so much farther than that. I brought them out here, when neither of them wanted that. This is my fault."

Eames exchanged a glance with Micah. Their thoughts mirrored the others, which Eames thought might've been a first.

"Yes," he said softly. "It is."

Cobb sank down into a chair at the conference table, leaning against it for support. "No wonder they've been acting like strangers. God dammit. Arthur must like me even less now-"

Eames chuckled without humor. "No more than he can hate himself. And her."

"He doesn't hate her!" Micah interjected, sounding slightly affronted.

Eames turned to the student. "Micah, Micah," he said, shaking his head. "You, my boy, are just that: a boy. You're too young to understand what exactly is going on here."

"I'm the same age as Ariadne," Micah muttered.

"Alright, I'll give you that," Eames agreed. "But Ariadne has lived more than you, and I daresay she's loved more than you, and that Arthur loves her more than any girl has loved you."

Micah hesitated, recognizing the truth in Eames' words. "Okay, you're right. But why do you think Arthur hates her?"

"There is a fine line between love and hate," Eames quoted in response. "Ariadne has broken his heart."

"But she still loves him-"

"Definitely," Eames said, his voice tense as he remembered his earlier conversation with Ariadne on the very subject. "I don't doubt that for a moment. But Arthur does. And he hates her for disagreeing with what he did last night, and he hates her for leaving him even though he did something similar in her eyes, and he hates her for making him feel like he is weak. He isn't exactly proud; but if Arthur has ever known one thing about himself, it's that he doesn't need anyone. Am I wrong, Cobb?"

Cobb shook his head. "No, you're definitely on the right path."

Micah's mouth had fallen open in amazement as Eames continued to speak. "There you have it, Micah. Arthur loves Ariadne very dearly; but he also hates that. Especially now. It's one thing to love and be loved in return. It's something else entirely to think your love is unrequited, which Arthur is considering at this point. Ariadne owns him, completely, and that lack of self-control is lethal."

Eames had barely spoken the last word when Micah's arm twitched, like he'd responded to the words. Eames stared, confused. Micah blushed.

"That seems totally crazy to me," he admitted.

Ah. That made more sense. "Talk to me when you've fallen in love, Micah. You'll understand."

Cobb was looking at Eames with an interested expression. "Do you have experience with this, Eames?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Eames muttered. He cleared his throat. "We should probably assume that Arthur's issues with projections of Ariadne are only about to get worse."

"Or better."

Both men turned to look at Micah, who blushed at the attention.

"Well, think about it," he said slowly. "If Arthur hates Ariadne as much as you're suggesting, then won't he be jazzed to let some of that stress go? And what better way to do that than by killing her?"

Eames frowned in thought, but Cobb looked interested. "You may have a point."

"Makes sense, right?"

"Hm." Eames ran a hand over his face. "That would make this the one good thing about this whole situation. But at least it reduces Arthur's chances of dying greatly."

Micah did the odd twitch again, but Eames didn't get to ask what that was about as the dream began to shimmer and sway. He looked back out the window as the floor fell away.

He woke moments later, still lying in the chair and facing the fluorescent lights of the warehouse. Arthur was kneeling nearby, helping Micah sit up.

"Getting the hang of it yet?" The point man asked with an attempt at cheerfulness.

Eames almost laughed at the way Micah reacted, having just had a conversation about Arthur's hatred. Micah jerked away as Arthur laid a hand on his arm, but managed to recover enough to calm the point man's confusion.

"Sorry," he muttered. "It's still a little disorienting."

"It's always a little disorienting," Arthur replied. He rolled the tubes up, returning them to the PASIV. Eames got up, yawning and stretching as he did so. He glanced at his watch.

"I think I'm going to get some dinner," he announced.

Ariadne was already reaching for her bag. "I'll come with you." Eames smiled at her. Micah also muttered something about going, and Yusuf nodded, picking up his coat. Cobb hesitated, glancing at Arthur, who'd returned to his desk as soon as Ariadne announced she was coming with Eames; Eames had a feeling Arthur wouldn't have been thrilled about spending any extra time with him anyway.

"I'll stay," Cobb murmured for Eames' ears alone. He nodded in acknowledgment. Cobb was electing to stay and keep Arthur company.

Ariadne strolled up to Eames, smiling, completely unaware of the way Arthur's sorrowful auburn eyes followed her every movement. Eames did though, and raised a hand in farewell, trying to tell Arthur that he was sorry for it all, that he hoped Ariadne would go back to him, that she would forgive him.

He was only rewarded with a cold and creepily lifeless stare. Eames sighed and held the door open for Ariadne.

**Review, please...**


	21. Prayer of the Refugee

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Thanks for the reviews/favorites/follows. To Iole17: I can personally understand Arthur's feelings completely, but maybe that just means I'm as messed up as him. "There is a fine line between love and hate"? To Knuckiducki: I've never promised a happy ending, but if you keep reviewing, we'll make it to whatever end there is! :D And a special thanks to While: if even half of what you said is true, I'm overwhelmed. Some of those secrets you mentioned are coming up...**

**Song title from Rise Against.**

Prayer of the Refugee

Monday, October 10, 2011: Los Angeles, California: Fischer-Morrow Offices: Arthur

Arthur had never liked skyscrapers.

It was odd and unexpected for his character, he knew. He was someone who worshipped organization and unity, and skyscrapers were pretty good examples of that. Yet he loathed them; he thought they were ugly, and largely unnecessary. They blocked out the sun and the sky, and when he stood below them, he felt trapped and worthless. He was someone who always needed to see the escape route, the trapdoor. Skyscrapers did not give him that. They were too hard to run from.

He was currently cornered in a place he was familiar with escaping, but also familiar with how very difficult that was: an elevator. Cobb stood beside him, looking much calmer and more put-together than Arthur, who felt like screaming. But that might've been for more reasons than just an elevator ride.

Unbidden, he saw her smile, the soft curl of her hair, the way her chocolate brown eyes shimmered. He blinked frantically, ridding himself of the images that had haunted him for days, the images that tormented him to the point of insomnia, that remained in the daylight now rather than in his dreams. Which made everything so much worse, because really, sleep was all that could free him now.

The elevator binged, signaling their arrival on the thirty-second floor. The man in the suit who'd come down to get them stepped forward first, followed by Cobb and finally Arthur, who practically dove out of the elevator. The thirty-second floor wasn't much better, but at least he could see smoggy L.A. skies through the windows.

The man led them down a long hallway, framed on both sides by what Arthur guessed were million-dollar paintings. He could name a few of the contemporary artists they passed, but most he didn't know; Browning's taste was radically different from his. The man reached double doors at the end of the hall and knocked once before pushing them open.

It was a large office, spacious and clean, somewhere Arthur could feel comfortable. If only the man in the large chair behind the desk was not there.

The man stood, smiling uncomfortably and stepping out from the desk, buttoning his coat.

"Mark, would you bring us some coffee and water, please?" He asked. The man nodded and left, while Browning marched forward.

"Mr. Cobb," he said cordially, holding out a hand. Cobb shook it without hesitation.

"Mr. Browning," Cobb replied. That was one thing Arthur could always count on with Cobb: unflappable professionalism in the face of villains.

Browning turned, his eyes widening as if he'd only just realized Arthur was there. He raised an eyebrow, but held out a hand, slightly uncertain.

"And you are…?"

"Arthur," Arthur said, shaking his hand. Browning's eyebrows soared.

"Just Arthur?" He repeated. "That's highly unusual, and not the way I do business. Here, we're very formal and professional."

_Is that why you blackmail and torture?_ "That's the way I work, Mr. Browning."

Arthur could feel Cobb at his side, practically vibrating with something to say. He didn't even glance at the man, keeping his eyes locked on Browning, whose whole being reminded him a little of a snake in the grass.

"That won't do," Browning murmured. "Why don't I just call you Mr. Zaleski, hm?"

Arthur froze, Browning's words sinking in. _How did he know?_ He thought in a panic, his eyes flying to Cobb's, who had the decency to look slightly ashamed.

"Mr. Cobb mentioned he had a man called Arthur Zaleski on his team," Browning explained. "So you can imagine our surprise when my researchers tried to track him down and found over a dozen names circulating around what appeared to be a single man. I think we'll settle for the name Mr. Cobb called you. Unless, of course, you prefer another?"

There wasn't a good answer here. Arthur hesitated, struggling to resist the urge to turn and glare daggers at Cobb. He didn't though, keeping his eyes trained on Browning.

"Mr. Zaleski is fine," he murmured.

Browning grinned like a spider that had just snared a fly. "Excellent. Please, take a seat."

They did, and Mark appeared, carrying a heavy tray laden with tea and coffee fixings. He placed it on the table in front of Arthur and Cobb and left without a word, shutting the door with a quiet snap behind him.

"So," Browning said, leaning forward and resting his hands on his desk. "How's it going?"

There: the whole point of the meeting. Arthur looked at Cobb, allowing him to take the question.

"On a whole, we're progressing," Cobb said. "Our chemist is mixing the sedatives and our architect is busy designing the levels." Arthur kept his gaze impassive as his mind went into overdrive, showing him yesterday's memory of Ariadne in her lace dress, cutting and measuring cardboard, building whole cities out of nothing. He was brought back to Earth by Cobb's mention of his name.

"… Arthur and I have been focusing on the logistics of the job," Cobb finished.

Browning's eyes locked on Arthur. "What is your role, exactly?"

"He's our point man," Cobb explained. Arthur was glad; he didn't want to speak to Browning any more than necessary. He found people tended to take him more seriously if he remained an enigmatic figure. "He runs the job while I focus on extracting the information we were sent in for. Or, in this case, in sending Robert to discover his mistake. Arthur works behind the scenes. He's my right-hand man."

Arthur kept his expression neutral, even as he felt pleased. It was obvious that Cobb's words had struck a chord with Browning, who looked impressed against his will.

"I see," Browning said slowly. "That's quite impressive for a man of your age, Mr. Zaleski."

Arthur merely blinked. "I'm good at what I do."

"I'll say. That doesn't just include shared dreaming though, Mr. Zaleski. Am I right?"

"It depends," Arthur said slowly. "What are you alluding to, Mr. Browning?"

Browning's jaw twitched at how unhelpful Arthur was being. "What have your friends Mr. Eames and Ms. Chopin told you about my research team?"

_Plenty_, Arthur thought. He remembered the way Eames and Ariadne had looked as they explained what Browning had done, how he had piles of research on them all. Names, birthdays ("Probably social security numbers for you Americans," Eames had added) family and everything in between. He'd had it for all of them: Ariadne, Eames, Yusuf, Cobb, Micah; all of them, except for Arthur.

"They told us you were running an investigation on our backgrounds," Cobb said smoothly.

"Correct," Browning agreed. "Surely you understand why, Mr. Cobb."

"Not entirely," Cobb said, his voice harsh. "We are working for you. You have my children. I wouldn't dare pull something over in the risk that it would kill them."

"You wouldn't," Browning said, nodding in agreement. "I don't doubt that, Mr. Cobb. Not at all. But I don't have anything on the rest of your team. What's to stop one of them going rogue and ruining the mission?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. But I do hear there's this crazy little thing called an ethic. Are you familiar with it, Mr. Browning?"

"Only as far as you are," Browning snapped, irritated. "And if this job wasn't as geared to success as it has to be, I might leave you all be. But it needs to succeed and it needs to be kept secret. So I've been researching your team. Thoroughly." As he spoke, he twisted his computer around, showing the screen to Cobb and Arthur, who were both prepared. Eames and Ariadne hadn't held back in their detail of what Browning had gathered about them.

But it was still a kick to the gut for Arthur to see Ariadne's face, and a long stream of information and details that ran alongside it. Ignoring the (probably) interesting and important personal information on the others, he stared hard at the facts of her life that no one other than people she loved should know.

Emphasis on the past tense.

_Born in Montreal, Canada, on July 19, 1988, to Blaise Chopin and Juliet Roux-Chopin…Older siblings Zacharie (32) and Josephine (29)…Attends the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts…Currently lives in Paris, France…Speaks French and English fluently…_

Arthur already knew all of this, but not everyone in the world did, and no one on Browning's team would've normally. He stared as more images of Ariadne appeared, images of her younger, a teenager and even a child, those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes, staring at him, torturing him more—

"This is quite thorough," Cobb murmured. Arthur turned to the older man. Cobb's eyes were locked on the screen, which showed a wedding photo of Cobb and Mal.

"This is a beautiful photograph," Browning said, studying the expressions on the faces of the men before him. Arthur kept his neutral, but Cobb's nostrils were practically flared in disapproval. "You were married in Paris?"

"Yes."

Cobb's voice was clipped, but Arthur knew him well enough to recognize how tight and tense it was, how hard this was for Cobb, to see that photo of his deceased wife and know this monster who was holding her children hostage had it. Arthur wished he could do something to wipe that smirk off Browning's face, but he didn't know what that could be.

"It's quite interesting," Browning continued. "Because of your best man." Before either man could do anything, Browning opened a different photo, expanding it: and there was Arthur, in a gray suit and dark blue tie, standing on Cobb's other side.

Browning looked at them, a soft smile on his face. "Good friends?"

_Used to be_, Arthur thought. But rather than get into that, he nodded. Browning's smile grew.

"Then I see why Mr. Cobb chose you to help him on this job," Browning said. "Because you, Mr. Zaleski, are the most mysterious man I've ever encountered. You have no references and no background. The only thing I could dredge up were your attendance records from Harvard University."

"I missed a lot of class," Arthur said in a sarcastic tone.

Browning nodded. "Oh, I know. Why was that?"

The million-dollar question, the answer to which very few people in the world knew, and one of them was sitting beside Arthur. Cobb remained cool, arranging his features into one of confusion. Browning noticed.

"Did you not know that, Mr. Cobb?" He asked harshly.

Cobb shook his head, the perfect actor. "I met Arthur through my wife, Mr. Browning. He'd already left Harvard by the time he started working for me. College degrees don't matter in dream sharing. Arthur's actual skills were more valuable than that slip of paper."

"No questions asked?"

"He saved my life during our first job," Cobb said softly. "I trusted him completely after that, something he's never made me regret."

Arthur kept his gaze forward, feeling Cobb's own turn to him. The regret and remorse that emanated from him was stifling, like hot air. It wasn't something Arthur wanted to breathe in right now.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Zaleski has never saved my life," Browning continued. "Which means I need to know his background." He turned to Arthur. "Go on."

Arthur laughed, which was probably the worse thing he could've done. "I'm sorry, Mr. Browning. But I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."

Browning stared. "Excuse me?"

"Most extractors, forgers, chemists, architects and point men of the shared dreaming world are trained," Arthur explained, his tone clipped. "Trained by mentors who came before them. Shared dreaming has been around long enough for there to be a second generation. The first generation were either naturally gifted real-world thieves, chemists and architects, or were there on the front lines and made it up as they went along." He nodded at Cobb. "Cobb was trained."

Browning nodded. "By Stephen Miles."

"Yeah, and Miles trained Mal as well," Arthur confirmed. "Eames is one hell of a good thief already, but he worked as an private investigator in London before he got sucked into the world. He literally stumbled upon it, uncovering a dream heist. He resigned from the company to pursue it, but his work there gave him the background on weaponry and fighting he needed. Yusuf learned everything he needed to about chemistry from his university, and had earned a reputation as a solid dream chemist after returning to Mombasa and learning of the trade. Eames found him, and he entered Fischer's dream with us last year; he'd gone under before, but he was unequipped for fighting or anything like that, so he drove a car on the first level for us."

Arthur paused, taking a moment before continuing. "Miles introduced Ariadne to Cobb last year, exactly the same way he introduced Cobb to his first job. Cobb and I taught Ariadne about the dream world, but she did the designs on her own. Architecture in the dream world is only different in that there are no limits and no boundaries. She's a natural though; she's got a gift for it."

"You've done your homework, Mr. Zaleski," Browning noted, slightly slack-jawed.

"It's my job to do so, Mr. Browning."

"But you haven't said why you cannot tell me about your entry into the world of shared dreaming."

Arthur smiled darkly. "My entry was something else entirely than any of theirs. My story is wholly unique. I was an experiment that went wrong."

Browning looked bewildered. "What experiment?"

"An experiment conducted by the U.S. Military."

Silence followed Arthur's pronouncement. He remained still, watching Browning's face as it changed from shock to awe, to even fear and astonishment. Cobb was quiet, watching as well, keeping his face interested and bemused. Arthur remained cold and steadfast.

"Do you see now why I cannot tell you more?" Arthur asked softly.

Browning swallowed, his guard shaken. "Can't or won't?"

"Can't. I was formally discharged, but I still hold many of the military's biggest secrets. My freedom hinges on my reliability to keep them that way."

He was telling a half-truth, but Browning had no way of knowing that. It was true that Arthur knew many of the military's juiciest and darkest secrets, secrets he knew needed to be kept quiet and followed that order religiously. But many of those secrets had nothing to do with him personally. Technically, there was nothing stopping him from explaining why he was in the military, what had happened to him there, and why he was no longer part of it. He could tell Browning why the experiment that was him went wrong; but he really didn't want to.

His legs seemed to ache the more he thought about it.

"So the United States Military is responsible for why my researchers cannot find anything on you?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes." Again, half-truth. The details of his years in the military were hidden by them, but the facts of Arthur's personal life and childhood were things Arthur suppressed. The military didn't care about that; Arthur did.

Browning leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. "I see. That explains quite a bit. The military guards its secrets."

"They have to," Arthur pointed out.

Browning sighed again, tired of Arthur's insolence. "Very well. We'll have to come up with another way to come by that information."

Arthur's eyebrows rose up. "Come again?"

"I still need to know what the military invested in you," Browning said. "And why. I don't know if you're a liability to them; or an asset. One would think asset, because how else would they trust you to keep those secrets for so long? You earned their trust somehow, yet you claim you were discharged. Dishonorably?"

"Hardly," Arthur snapped, feeling insulted. "Very honorably."

"Then an asset," Browning murmured. "I don't see why they would've let you go then."

Arthur blinked. "I've been told I can be a little sarcastic. That made things confusing."

"Don't be funny," Browning hissed. He regained his composure quickly, recovering from the flare of irritation. "Well, well. Mr. Zaleski, I am deeply interested in you. We'll see how far my team can go."

Arthur inclined his head. "Good luck. Let me know what you find out, would you?"

"Absolutely," Browning grumbled. He turned abruptly to Cobb. "The reason I brought you here, aside from a check-in and the pleasure of meeting your point man-" his eyes slid to Arthur before looking back at Cobb "-Was to tell you there's been a change in setting."

Cobb stared. "What?"

"Robert would rather conduct the meeting at our power plant on the coast," Browning said. "He feels the executives he thinks he's meeting with should see what they are getting."

"Can't you feed him something to change his mind?" Arthur asked.

Browning glared at him. "It's not so simple, Mr. Zaleski. Robert's logic is sound. My raising objections would only make him suspicious. He knows I'm unhappy about this sale."

"Tell me about the power plant," Cobb interjected.

"We have a conference room overlooking the main energy chambers that Robert intends to tour with the executives," Browning said. He reached into his desk and revealed a stack of blueprints, which he passed to Cobb. Cobb took them as Browning continued. "The plant is much bigger than this floor, and it's also smaller in height. The conference room overlooks the energy chambers, with iron stairs running around as viewing areas. There are doors along the catwalks leading to the lobby, restrooms, a cafeteria for the workers and visitors (tours run daily) and smaller areas. Elevators run alongside the building for easy transportation from one part to another. We've also got hydraulic chambers that channel the water through the building and return it to the sea."

"Where is this plant?" Cobb asked.

"Half an hour's drive from here," Browning said. "In the industrial district of Los Angeles."

Arthur pulled a heavy file towards him, flicking it open. A thick stack of official documents and papers looked up at him. He almost smiled. He could handle conversations about himself, though he didn't like it; but what he was really good at was running investigations on other things.

He skimmed the photos. "There's construction going on."

"Yes, we're remodeling a wing of the plant," Browning confirmed. "Adding new technology, putting in a couple new elevators to the addition. It's fairly close to the conference room, but that shouldn't be an issue."

"We need to evaluate all of this," Cobb disagreed. He glanced at Arthur, and Arthur got his meaning: _We need to know our escape routes._

"These are yours then," Browning said, waving his hand over the stack of blueprints and files. He got to his feet, indicating they were dismissed. Cobb and Arthur followed suit as Browning extended his hand, shaking Cobb's first.

"Thank you for coming in," he said. "And I expect to see you again on the 15th. As always, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to call."

Cobb nodded tensely. "Of course, Mr. Browning."

"I expect there to be no further problems," Browning continued. "You know what's at stake here, Mr. Cobb."

Arthur was stunned at how low of a blow that was. The look on Cobb's face brought up his old caring feelings for the extractor, and he felt prepared to kill Browning with his bare hands. He didn't get a chance though, as Cobb pulled away, marching straight to the door, where Mark was waiting. Arthur made to follow when a hand seized his shoulder.

"And Mr. Zaleski…" Browning's voice was the epitome of malicious. Arthur exhaled through his nose, forcing his eyes to meet Browning's. The businessman looked smug. "Be careful."

Arthur smirked. "Only if you do the same, Mr. Browning. Have a good day." He tore out of there, hurrying after Cobb, ignoring whatever reaction Browning was having.

The elevator ride back to the lobby was painful. Arthur kept his expression blank, while Cobb stared into the wall. Mark had thankfully not ridden down with them, instead showing them out on the thirty-second floor. But even though they were alone, neither Cobb nor Arthur spoke. Neither would've put it past Browning to have the elevators bugged.

They reached the lobby and hurriedly left the building, emerging into the chilly October afternoon. The sun hadn't quite set yet, but it was threatening to, hiding behind other skyscrapers. Arthur tucked his jacket in around himself, walking quickly beside Cobb as they made for Arthur's car. They jumped in and Arthur peeled out of the lot.

Cobb waited until Arthur had pulled onto the highway to speak. "Where are we headed?"

"I'm taking you to the warehouse," Arthur said. "And then I have to meet an old friend."

Cobb stared at him from the passenger's seat. "A friend? Why?"

"Because I need him to allow Fischer-Morrow to access my files."

There was a long and awkward silence, during which Cobb visibly looked stunned. His mouth opened and closed uselessly. Arthur offered no assistance or explanation; he kept his eyes trained on the road, merging into traffic with breathtaking speed and maybe a little too coltishly.

Cobb swallowed. "Who?"

"A friend," Arthur repeated.

"You have no friends," Cobb said brusquely. "Especially not in California. Who is it? And what do you mean, you want Fischer-Morrow to get your files? You just told Browning he didn't have a prayer."

Arthur nodded. "And he doesn't, unless someone on the inside specifically allows him to see the files."

"Why would you want this?"

"Because," Arthur said slowly. "Because he needs to see who he's dealing with."

Cobb stared at him. "My God. You intend to kill him."

"What, don't you?"

Cobb's mouth opened and closed like a beached fish. "Certainly, Arthur! But not this soon! I was going to get my kids settled out of the country, away from here, before I went after Browning."

"That'll take too long," Arthur disagreed. "You have to strike while the iron is hot."

It hit Cobb as to how hot the iron was going to be. "The job. After we complete the job, you're going to kill him. Right in the conference room."

"He'll be waking up," Arthur said in a dark tone. "He won't know which way is up after being three levels down. We've done this a million times before; we'll be fine and more than capable of taking down a fifty-nine year old man with heart problems." He veered into traffic and Cobb gripped the bar above his head, earning a smirk from Arthur. "It'll be very easy, especially after the job."

"You're insane," Cobb spluttered. "You're actually insane."

"Am I?" Arthur wondered. Very abruptly and without warning, he pulled off, slamming the car to a stop along the road in an abandoned parking lot beside the ocean. The sun was starting to set, a mass of blood reds and oranges.

"Cobb," Arthur said clearly. "This is the man who has taken your life out of your hands. He is threatening to kill your children. And he will, if you fail. He will shoot them through the heads, or hold them under water to drown, or wrap his hands around their necks-"

"Stop!" Cobb gasped. "God, Arthur, I know, I don't need you to tell me-"

"Then why do you think I'm insane?" Arthur demanded. "Who's to say what Browning will do if the idea doesn't take hold in Fischer? What's to stop him from killing us all out of spite, or to hand us to the authorities to send us to jail for the rest of our lives? That almost happened to you," he said, reminding the older man of the years he'd spent hiding from extradition. "And just when that sword was taken off your head, this happens. He's ruined you, Cobb. He's royally screwed us all."

Cobb frowned, considering Arthur's rant.

"I think…" He paused before continuing, speaking swiftly now. "I think you're right, Arthur. I only have one thing to say."

"Yes?"

Cobb looked Arthur in the eye. "Let me kill him."

Arthur paused, about to put the car in drive. "Why? Because he took your kids?"

"Yes," Cobb confirmed. "But it's more than that. I want my killing of Browning to be the first thing I do to try to win your forgiveness."

Arthur froze, his eyes on the road ahead of him. Beside him, Cobb was still, watching the younger man. Arthur swallowed once and blinked.

"You're killing him…"

"…Because I don't want you to have to," Cobb murmured. "Because it needs to be done, and it can be my first step in apologizing. I know I'll probably never succeed in that, but I want to try. And, well… If something goes wrong and they connect the team to Browning's murder… I want to take the fall. Not you."

"But… Your kids-"

"Your freedom," Cobb said strongly. "Your freedom, Arthur. I stole it from you; I won't stand by and watch you risk it all again. Not when I can prevent that."

"Cobb…" Arthur felt overwhelmed. Very rarely did people do anything for him, and never at something of this magnitude. It was too much. "I don't know what to say."

"Okay, works. Or maybe even 'deal.'"

Arthur smiled. "Alright. Deal."

They shook hands, and for one blissful moment, it felt to Arthur like they were partners again, about to begin a mission in the work they loved so much. It wasn't until he'd turned to drive again did he remember the situation, the things Cobb had done that had made him feel the need to do this.

But still, it was one hell of a thing to do. He couldn't deny that.

Arthur drove down the highway, sitting with Cobb in their first comfortable silence since he'd showed up in Paris. They reached the warehouse and Arthur pulled over, helping Cobb gather the blueprints and files.

"Put the files on the history of the building on my desk," Arthur instructed him. "I'll see what I can learn about the land. There might be some drain-off tunnels we can run through if we need to."

"Okay," Cobb said. He climbed out of the car, but paused before slamming the door.

"Aren't you coming in? If I'm killing Browning, there's no need to give him your files. All you'd be doing is giving him a target."

Arthur glanced at his watch. "I know, I won't. But I'm still going to meet my friend. Say hello."

"And this friend… He'll meet you?"

"I think so," Arthur said with a smile. "He thinks I'm dead."

The expression on Cobb's face was priceless. He gaped at Arthur for a long moment before finally letting loose a loud chuckle.

"You're right," he agreed. "People love running into dead men walking." Cobb backed up, clutching the blueprints tightly. "We might order a pizza, should I get you combo?"

Arthur laughed. "Definitely. Make sure Eames keeps his filthy mitts off it, okay?"

"As always. Goodbye, Arthur."

"Bye, Cobb."

Arthur waited until the warehouse door had slammed shut behind Cobb before pulling out his cell phone. He opened the internet browser on it and typed in the name 'Jonah Mellark,' searching for the one in Los Angeles. It didn't take long before he found him. Arthur ascertained that there was no immediate business listing for Jonah Mellark (a good sign) and proceeded directly to home address and phone number. He dialed the number without hesitation.

It rang twice, before a woman picked up. "Hello?"

"I'm calling for Mr. Mellark," Arthur said smoothly. "It's work."

"Oh!" He heard movement in the background as the woman began to search. "One moment please." Arthur listened as she called for Jonah, her voice echoing, not quite able to cover up her yells on the phone.

A man picked up, a voice Arthur hadn't heard in almost nine years. "Yes, this is Mr. Mellark."

"Mr. Mellark, my name is James Browning," Arthur said, snatching the name Browning from his earlier meeting with a real one. "I have a source that has picked up critical information regarding one of your cases. I need to give it to you now."

"Right, of course," Jonah said, scrabbling for what Arthur guessed was paper and pen. "Where can I meet you, Mr. Browning?"

"Anthony's in Santa Monica," Arthur said, looking straight ahead as he spoke and speaking in a lower tone than normal. "The bar. Thirty minutes," he added, estimating how long it would take Jonah to get there from his house in Long Beach.

"I'll see you there. How will I know it's you?"

Arthur smiled. "I'll find you, Mr. Mellark." He hung up his cell phone, putting it back in his pocket and starting the ignition. He pulled away from the warehouse, headed to Santa Monica.

The drive was smooth and uneventful, and Arthur made it to the aforementioned bar in twenty minutes. Anthony's was a swanky place, and even on a Monday night was more crowded than normal places. Arthur gave his car to the valet, blending in with the well-to-do in his suit. But rather than go inside, he hovered to the side of the front doors, scanning the cars as they pulled in.

He waited eight minutes before a Mustang pulled up, joining the line of cars. Arthur smiled in satisfaction as Jonah Mellark emerged from the car. He looked largely the same, but older, more filled-out. He had bright blond hair and rocky blue eyes hidden behind thin-framed glasses (he still doesn't like contacts, Arthur realized with a fond feeling). Jonah was dressed nicely, in a suit as well, but Arthur knew just by looking at it that it wasn't nearly as expensive as his own. That was typical Jonah. Arthur gave him a two-minute head start into the restaurant before following him inside.

The restaurant hung off the edge of a rocky cliff on the Californian coast. The sunset was practically gone now, but it still managed to paint the walls of the restaurant bright colors, now dark reds and slight purples.

Jonah was sitting at the bar, having picked a place surreptitiously out of the way and near the end. He ordered a beer, taking a gulp while keeping one eye on the television (L.A. Lakers were ahead) and one eye anywhere he could see, flickering from person to person in an attempt to find Mr. James Browning.

Who, of course, did not exist.

Arthur stepped forward, until he was standing behind Jonah. Reaching for the stool beside his, he murmured, "Hello, Jonah."

Jonah spun around, slopping beer onto the polished marble. His expression was one of the most stunned Arthur had ever seen, just wide eyes and fully open mouth. He gaped as Arthur sat down. He couldn't formulate words, only managing to do so after Arthur ordered a beer.

"Arthur," Jonah gasped. "Holy shit. Arthur."

"Thanks," Arthur murmured to the bartender, who'd passed him the drink. He smiled at Jonah as he took a sip. "Long time, no see, huh?"

Jonah nodded furiously. "I'll say. Fuck, Arthur—I thought you were dead."

"You're not the only one."

"The last time I saw you…" Jonah ran a hand over his hair, messing it up, an old and familiar nervous habit to Arthur, who'd seen him utilize it many times. "You were being dragged away by militant terrorists, you were covered in blood and you were yelling at the rest of us to run, and—Jesus Christ, how are you alive?"

Arthur studied the polished top of the bar. "I'd rather not discuss that. What happened, happened, Jonah."

"We ran," Jonah croaked, speaking less to Arthur and more to himself. "We booked it outta there. Everyone thought you were dead, no one had heard a thing by the time we shipped back three months later… How long?"

He was staring at Arthur, who took a long drink of beer before answered. "Six months."

Jonah looked even more shocked and horrified. "Six months? Fuck, Arthur. Fuck."

"Pretty much sums it up."

"You were just nineteen-"

"Jonah," Arthur said calmly. "It was hell. It was the worst six months of my life. But I need you to focus on the present moment."

Jonah snorted, but recovered somewhat. "Like hell I will. You were my best friend, Arthur. I deserve to know what happened to you."

"You'll know," Arthur said. "Jonah, I need you to do me a favor."

"What's the favor?"

Arthur smiled. Good old Jonah; always willing to hear people out first before passing judgment. "I need you to open up the files on me to a man called Peter Browning of Fischer-Morrow."

Jonah frowned. "Browning. Any relation to James?"

"Might've gotten the idea there," Arthur said dismissively. "Can you do it?"

"Can I do it?" Jonah repeated. "Come on, Arthur. Do you really think that if I had access to that information I wouldn't have already tried to find out everything I could on you?" He stilled as if he'd realized something. "I went to your goddamn funeral."

"My mother had a funeral," Arthur murmured. "She thinks I'm dead too. Everyone does." He sighed and pressed on. "What do you do for them these days?"

"The military? I'm in the upper levels."

"I thought so. You have access to the central database. You just need a couple things from me to override the pass codes."

Jonah stared. "How do you know about that?"

"I was a bit of a special case," Arthur reminded him. "They practically worshipped me when I came back. I got to make the decisions regarding how to best protect my files."

"Hold on," Jonah said, literally raising a hand. Arthur smirked. "The military allowed you to help them guard your files?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Arthur scratched behind his ear, slightly uncomfortable. "They had two things that they needed to happen: one, I disappear; two, that the information of what happened to me be kept top secret and hidden away. I agreed, on the condition that I be able to access that information."

"Why would you need to access it?" Jonah asked, bewildered.

Arthur shrugged. "Emergencies. My personal sanity, so that I could convince myself of the facts and keep the hallucinations at bay. They didn't need the reasons. They just needed me to agree."

Jonah still looked overwhelmingly impressed. "You bartered with the United States Military."

"You should try it sometime."

"Ha," Jonah said, rolling his eyes. "Fat chance."

Arthur reached across the bar, picking up a napkin and pulling a pen from his jacket pocket.

"I am going to give you the pass codes to my files," he murmured. "When you go into the office tomorrow, I want you to open them and prepare to spam them to Peter Browning on…Say, October 17th." Enough time to warn Browning, but not enough time for him to plan. The job would be three days after that. "Set a time limit on how long he can view them. He has researchers who will attempt to preserve them. I need you to manually override their system and prevent them from doing so. Browning just needs to see the facts."

As he spoke, Arthur wrote down a series of numbers. Though they would've looked random and erratic to Jonah (and anyone else for that matter) to Arthur, they made perfect sense.

1132029151516416316181362613 2201171613201015151641625619 203213220

"Why does Browning have to have your files? What'd he do to earn that?"

Arthur looked up, putting his pen back in his pocket. "That's between me and Browning, Jonah. Don't worry; if you really want to know what happened to me, go for it. Just close out when you're done."

Jonah raised an eyebrow. "You're giving me permission to read your files?"

"Sure. So long as you send them to Browning and follow my instructions."

"Alright," Jonah said. "I can do that. You sure it's okay?"

Arthur nodded. "I figure, since you tried to go to my funeral and all, you probably deserve to know."

"You bet," Jonah commented. "Where the hell have you been for the past nine years then?"

"Here and there," Arthur said vaguely.

Jonah didn't look convinced. "That explains a lot."

"I want to hear about you," Arthur said. "On the phone: that was Lana, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Jonah said, smiling.

Arthur grinned. "Excellent. I'm really glad to hear that, Jonah. When did you two get married?"

"2006."

"Kids?"

"Yeah," Jonah said, smiling more. "A girl and a boy. Vanessa is five and Arthur is three."

Arthur stilled. "What?"

Jonah chuckled. "You heard me right. I named my son after my dead best friend." He paused, letting the bitter run out of his voice. "I wanted him to be like you, Arthur. I'll never forget that day, and how ridiculously brave you were. I'd never seen so much blood, and you were telling me to save myself, to leave you, and… Fuck, I did."

"You feel guilty," Arthur realized.

"Yeah, I do," Jonah said. "Did. No, I still do, even though you made it out. You very well might not have. Most wouldn't have. You're probably the only guy I know who could've lasted that long. What made you crack?"

Arthur blinked. "Crack? I didn't crack."

"No, seriously," Jonah pressed.

"Jonah," Arthur murmured quietly. "I didn't tell them anything. That's why I was there for six months. They didn't let me go. They were raided one day and I was rescued."

It was quiet between the two men then. Jonah stared at Arthur, who felt uncomfortable and turned back to the television. The Lakers had scored another six points before Jonah found his voice.

"You didn't crack," he said in wonder.

"Tell me about your kids, Jonah."

"I can't believe it," Jonah whispered. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit. How many medals did they give you for that?"

Arthur shrugged. "A few."

"No wonder they rolled out the red carpet for you," Jonah said.

"How is Lana these days?" Arthur asked.

"Screw me," Jonah snapped. "Tell me about you, you asshole. I know nothing about you, except that you're the toughest and strongest son of a bitch I've ever met. I'm dying here, man: where have you been?"

Arthur sighed. "It's going to take longer to explain what I've been up to than one beer, Jonah."

"I am prepared for that," Jonah said wholeheartedly. He raised a hand at the bartender. "Hey! Can we get four shots of your best whiskey down here?"

Arthur smirked, finishing off his beer. He glanced down at the bar, at the list of numbers on the napkin, numbers that would almost certainly cause Browning to take aim on him alone, to single him out for death, allowing Cobb to rescue his children and take them home, allowing Yusuf to go back to Makena, Micah to Harvard, Eames to London, and Ariadne...

Home, safe.

And what of Arthur himself? What would happen to him?

"I guess I should ask," Jonah said suddenly. "Do you have a new drink preference?"

Jonah slipped the napkin into his pocket, and Arthur watched it disappear.

"No," he murmured. "I don't care."

**Review, please.**


	22. Falling Slowly

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Thanks for the favorites and follows, I love getting those notifications, but what I especially adore are the reviewers. Shanynde: I blush at your flattery. Iole17: Thanks for hanging in there! Knuckiducki: "Lost" is one of my favorite television shows, funnily enough, but I have no claim to its writing, and I'm pleased to hear you're going to stick around; most of this chapter is fluffier fare! And While: your reviews and messages leave me speechless, I look forward to them all.**

**I forgot to mention this in the last chapter, but Jonah Mellark is my own Original Character.**

**Chapter title from Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, from the movie "Once."**

Falling Slowly

Tuesday, October 11, 2011: Los Angeles, California: Farmers' Market: Ariadne

"Edward," Ariadne called. She looked behind her, waiting for the forger to catch up. It was warmer today than normal, and they'd dressed accordingly. Ariadne was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a checkered blouse, while Eames had on jeans and a loose dress shirt.

He cleaned his sunglasses with the end of his shirt. "What is it, love?"

"It's a farmers' market," she said, pointing.

Sure enough, a bustling farmer's market had set up across the street from the hotel. Ariadne saw dozens and dozens of vendors, selling every fruit and vegetable known to Southern California, alongside other stands filled with handmade merchandise and the occasional knock-off.

She was practically dancing with excitement. "We have to go."

"Why?" Eames wondered. He checked his watch. "It _is_ Tuesday, right?"

"It's the fall, they're more common," Ariadne said by explanation. "And I love farmers' markets. They're so much fun."

Eames sighed. "Food lying under a hot sun for hours does not add up to 'fun' in my book, Ariadne."

"Come on," she pressed, walking now. Eames followed, offering his arm and Ariadne happily looped hers through his. "Farmers' markets are so great. Everything is incredibly fresh and delicious, it's all cheaper because it's direct and there's so much to see. In Paris, Arthur and I-"

She broke off suddenly, realizing she'd broken her new rule: _Don't think about Arthur._ It made everything hurt less.

But it didn't stop the memories.

She thought of dozens of Sundays spent combing the farmers' markets and flea markets of Paris. It was one of only a handful of occasions where Arthur let loose, having as much fun and joking as much as her. They'd find the weirdest clothes, the most unusual foods, every time. It was an unspoken rule to try something new each time.

And before they left, he'd always buy her a bouquet of flowers.

"_I love you_," he'd whisper, presenting them to her and kissing her deeply, making her feel like they were any other pair of lovers in the city of lights.

Ariadne snapped out of it, aware that Eames was studying her. She blushed and he sighed.

"Don't think about it," he muttered. He cleared his throat and nodded at the market. "Let's get this over with then. We do have work to get done."

Ariadne led the way, Eames behind her. The market was oddly busy for a Tuesday morning; she passed it off as simply a popular attraction. There were numerous tourists there, mingled in with the everyday L.A. citizens. They passed musicians playing guitars and drums for spare change, artists painting caricatures for a fee and people advertising nearby businesses and deals. Ariadne loved the atmosphere and turned to tell Eames so, only for him to jerk his head to the side.

"There's Arthur."

She turned, and sure enough, Arthur was standing a few stalls away. He was smiling widely and laughing, and… Talking to a woman? Ariadne stared in stupefaction. Arthur looked more laid-back and relaxed than she'd seen him in weeks, his suit jacket hung over his arm, his tie loose. Even his hair looked less harsh, blowing gently in the breeze. She looked at the woman he was speaking to. She was tall, with bright red hair tied back in an elegant ponytail, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Maybe we should-" Ariadne ignored whatever Eames had been about to suggest, her legs marching her straight over to Arthur and the woman.

Arthur saw her coming, and muttered something to the woman. She glanced over at Ariadne and smiled, before suddenly dipping behind a stall. It was only then that Ariadne realized which stand Arthur was in front of: flowers. It was too late, though: she was standing next to him.

"Good morning," he murmured. His voice was all light. She swallowed.

"Hi," she muttered, rather anti-climatically. She was aware that Eames was nearby, but keeping his distance, pretending to be engrossed in the stand a few down that was selling vegetables.

Ariadne turned as the woman Arthur had been speaking to reappeared, this time from behind the counter. She smiled warmly at Ariadne.

"He was just telling me about you," she said with a wide smile.

"Oh?" Ariadne asked, her voice somewhat choked.

The woman nodded. Arthur didn't offer any comment. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Ariadne watched, dumbfounded, as he gave the woman cash.

She almost sighed when the woman gave him a bouquet of flowers in return. Gardenias, lavender and lilies, to be exact. Her favorites.

"Thank you," Arthur said. The woman nodded and gave Ariadne another warm smile before disappearing around the back of the stall, a watering can in hand.

Arthur faced Ariadne, his expression small. "These are for you." He held them out and she took them.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She lifted them to her nose and inhaled deeply. "They're beautiful."

"As are you." He placed a light kiss on the corner of her mouth, his lips feeling like a branding iron on her skin. He stepped back quickly, but his eyes smoldered. "I love you."

She swallowed, closing her eyes. "Arthur-"

"I know," he whispered. "It doesn't change anything though." He lifted his head and raised his voice as a shadow passed and Ariadne realized someone had come to stand by her shoulder. "Hey, Eames."

Eames looked deeply awkward but managed to nod politely. "Hi, Arthur. What brings you here?"

"Tradition," Arthur said. Ariadne blushed again, knowing what the tradition was. Eames filled in the blanks from her face to the flowers in her hands. "Seen anything you like?"

"Well, that man's got about five different varieties of eggplant," Eames said. "I didn't even know there was more than one variety, so consider me hooked. I was thinking about buying some, are either of you interested?"

Before they could say anything, a little girl appeared out of nowhere, tugging on Arthur's sleeve. They looked at her. She couldn't have been older than four, Ariadne surmised. Her hair was dirty blond and she was skinny, wearing a light pink dress and brown sandals. For some reason that Ariadne couldn't quite explain, she found herself staring at the little girl's lovely brown eyes. They were so familiar…

"Daddy," the little girl said. "Where's mommy?"

Ariadne looked from the little girl to Arthur. Arthur looked utterly bewildered, his eyes narrowed. Beside Ariadne, Eames was equally as confused.

"I'm…" Arthur said slowly. "I think you've got me confused. I'm not your dad."

She stared at him, as if he was insane. Ariadne looked from the little girl to Arthur and gasped as it hit her. Everyone looked at her as her hands flew to her mouth. She felt like she was about to pass out.

"Art-" Ariadne stopped talking and swallowed, aware of the girl's gaze on her. "Her eyes… Her dad, it has to be-"

Arthur's face changed, realizing what she was talking about. He snapped his gaze from Ariadne's, to the little girl, and then back to Ariadne's, his auburn eyes (identical to the little girl's) pleading as he tore his arm out of the girl's grip.

"Find him," he snapped. And then he spun, vanishing into the crowd.

Both Eames and the girl were very confused, but their reactions differed. Whereas the girl burst into tears, Eames gawked at Ariadne.

"Ariadne," he said slowly. "What the hell is going on?"

"Here," Ariadne whispered, holding out her hand. "Let's go find your daddy, okay? What's your name, sweetheart?"

The girl sniffled, but took Ariadne's hand. "Morgan."

"Morgan," Ariadne repeated. "Come on, Morgan, we'll find him together, okay? And your mom, too. Where did you see them last?"

Morgan pointed in, thankfully, the opposite direction of where Arthur had gone. "Over there. Tom wanted to get ice cream and I wanted a bracelet…"

"Then let's go there," Ariadne said. "Is Tom your brother?"

"Yeah," Morgan sniffed. She craned her neck around, trying to look behind Eames, who was following. "Who was that man?"

_Long story_, Ariadne thought. She might never have heard of Arthur. "My friend."

"Did he give you the flowers?"

_At least she didn't see him kiss me_, Ariadne thought. That would've been a hard one to explain. "Yes, he did."

"He looks like my daddy," Morgan said in a sing-song voice, completely at ease with Ariadne. Behind them, Ariadne was aware of Eames listening intently. She swallowed, keeping her voice under control.

"That's funny," she said.

They wandered through the market, moving farther and farther away from the direction Arthur had fled. Ariadne could see that Eames was practically vibrating with confusion. Morgan didn't seem concerned in the slightest. Instead, she hummed a song to herself, holding Ariadne's hand lightly in hers. Ariadne felt slightly dazed, wondering if she was dreaming and wishing they could stop so she could test her totem—

"Morgan!"

God, they sounded exactly alike. Ariadne stopped, closing her eyes and reopening them, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of a man who looked exactly like Arthur, except infinitely more casual in jeans and a Nirvana t-shirt, pick up Morgan and hug her tightly. Morgan dropped Ariadne's hand.

"Daddy!" She exclaimed.

Ariadne turned her head. Eames was the epitome of speechless. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. Luckily, the man was too focused on Ariadne to see this mysterious behavior.

"Did you find her? Thank you so much," he said, shaking Ariadne's hand warmly. He felt exactly like Arthur, except his hands were callus-free. She lifted her face to his, staring into auburn eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose, smooth forehead and pale lips that she knew like the back of her hand. His hair was free and clean though, wavy in the breeze.

"She was right next to me," he said, ignoring Ariadne's stare. "And then she was saying something about bracelets, and I turned, and poof! She was gone. I cannot thank you enough."

"You're welcome," Ariadne said softly. She shook her head, putting a smile on her face. "I'm just happy she's okay."

"Daddy, I found a man who looked just like you," Morgan trilled.

The man's brow furrowed, a familiar expression of confusion to Ariadne. "What do you-"

"Adam? Adam, do you have her? Oh, thank God!"

A woman appeared, dressed casually like Adam in jeans and a white tank top and pink cardigan. She threw herself at Morgan, yanking her from Adam's arms and covering her in a wave of bright blond hair. She looked at Ariadne with wide green eyes.

"Did you find her? Oh, thank you, thank you," she crowed, clutching Morgan to her. From behind her came a young boy, older than Morgan but not by much. He had Adam's (and Arthur's) dark brown hair, while his eyes were hazel. He was built just like Adam (and Arthur), skinny and long. He didn't seem concerned about his sister's recovery in the slightest.

"Where was she?" The woman demanded.

Ariadne pointed. "By the flowers. She, uh… She thought a friend of mine was, um…" She hesitated, looking at the man.

"Adam," Adam said, holding out his hand again. "Adam Zaleski. This is my wife, Lily, our daughter Morgan and our son Tom."

Eames exhaled loudly at the name, and Ariadne knew he'd just figured it out, how the man could look so much like Arthur, and Arthur's reaction to Ariadne's impatient blubbering about eyes, why he'd commanded her to "_Find him_"… Ariadne simply smiled, shaking Adam's hand.

"I'm Ariadne Chopin," she said. "And the man behind me is Edward Eames. Anyway, Morgan thought a friend of ours was Adam. They've got very similar hair."

"Good-looking guy, I'm sure," Adam joked. Ariadne stared more. It was like meeting an Arthur from an alternative universe.

Lily rolled her eyes; she'd obviously heard the joke before. "Ignore him. Thank you so much, Ariadne."

"It's no big deal. I'm just happy she's back with her parents."

Lily smiled once more and then turned, still holding Morgan in one arm, her other guiding Tom. Morgan waved shyly at Ariadne, who waved back.

Adam grinned at Ariadne. "I'm just happy it was a pretty young lady and not some creep. Seriously, thanks." He winked at her before darting off, after his family. Ariadne and Eames watched them go.

Eames exhaled again. "Okay. What the fuck was that?"

Ariadne swallowed, her eyes trained on Adam's back, until he had vanished from sight. "That was Arthur's brother."

"_Brother_?"

She sighed. "Twin brother. Identical twin brother."

"I'll say," Eames muttered. Ariadne turned, walking back the way they'd come, headed towards the hotel. Eames dogged her steps, his hand curled around her elbow, impatiently hissing out questions as they walked.

"Since when does Arthur have a twin? Why is he here? Did Arthur know he'd be here?"

"Edward," Ariadne snapped. "One at a time. Arthur has had a twin since 1981. He's here because he probably lives in Los Angeles. And no, Arthur did not know he would be at this farmers' market."

They reached the street and Ariadne breathed out in relief. A familiar black Mercedes was parked on their side of the road. She quickened her pace as the passenger door was opened from within, Arthur leaning across the seat. Ariadne hurried into the passenger seat, leaving Eames to get into the back. He dropped her elbow.

Arthur's voice was hard as he pulled into traffic, hitting the gas. "Did you find him?"

"Yes. He was relieved."

"Hm." Arthur didn't say anything else as he turned onto a different street, in the direction of the warehouse. From the back came an indecent spluttering.

"That's it?" Eames asked. "You don't want to know anything else?"

Arthur looked at him via the rearview mirror. "I'm good."

"Well I'm not," Eames huffed. "I didn't know you have a twin brother."

"Now you do." Arthur looked away from Eames, scanning the road for a moment before turning to Ariadne. His eyes were earnest. "I'm a little curious. What did he look like?"

Eames answered before Ariadne could. "You, if you were happy, carefree and a hell of a lot more casual. He was wearing jeans a Nirvana t-shirt, for God's sake."

Arthur cracked a smile. "He's always loved Nirvana."

"Is your hair naturally fluffy?"

"I wouldn't call it fluffy," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "But no, it doesn't naturally look like this. It is rather wavy though, I'll say that. How long was his?"

Ariadne answered. "About the same length as yours."

"Thank God. He used to have it down to his shoulders. It wasn't flattering." He changed tack as he changed lanes on the highway. "Did Morgan say anything about me?"

"Yes, she-" Ariadne broke off. "Hang on. How did you know her name was Morgan?"

Arthur's nose twitched as he realized his mistake. "Right. I keep tabs on Adam."

"Wait," Ariadne said. "You knew he was here?"

"I know he lives in Los Angeles," Arthur confirmed. "With his wife, Lily née Petrucci, and their two children, Thomas and Morgan. Adam works as a trauma surgeon at a hospital downtown. Lily is a stay at home mother, though she has a degree in Accounting from Stanford University. That's where they met."

Eames sighed. "You stalk your own brother."

"I do not stalk him," Arthur snapped. "I check in on him. I want to make sure he's okay."

"When was the last time you spoke to your brother, Arthur?"

Arthur frowned, inhaling deeply. "Eleven years ago. He visited me in a hospital room."

"A hospital room?"

"I don't keep in touch with my family, Eames," Arthur hissed in agitation. He looked at Ariadne. "Bristol described him as angry. What did he seem like to you?"

She thought of Adam, his warm smile, the way he looked at his wife and kids, his cheerful jokes. "He was happy. He's so happy, Arthur."

Arthur nodded once. "I'm glad to hear that. He used to be very angsty."

"Sounds like you've switched temperaments," Eames muttered. "Arthur, if you haven't seen him in eleven years, why didn't you come see him today?"

"Because he thinks I'm dead."

His words had the desired effect, Ariadne knew. Eames visibly deflated, falling back in his seat. He was sitting in the middle of the backseat, not wearing a seatbelt. He leaned forward, running his hands through his hair.

"Why…" He grumbled. "Why, does your brother think you're dead?"

"Because that's what he was told," Arthur said softly. "My mother and brother were both told that I was dead, because that's what I want them to think."

Arthur trailed off. Unable to help herself, Ariadne reached forward and wrapped her hand over his, resting on the gearshift. She squeezed it, and he nodded at the support.

"Okay," Eames said slowly. "Arthur, why do you want your brother to think you're dead?"

"It's safer for him," Arthur said. "Not to mention for Lily, Thomas and Morgan. If anyone or anything—like, say, Cobol or another company that's looking to do me in—comes asking questions, Adam will have nothing to say, because he doesn't know anything. It's hard to torture someone if they don't have anything to say."

"You, darling, are paranoid," Eames said.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Am I?" He wondered. He slid his eyes to Ariadne pointedly.

"Maybe not," Eames muttered, recognizing Arthur's point. "Still, that was bloody bizarre. It was like seeing what your kids would look like."

Ariadne was glad she'd taken her hand off Arthur's at that point. She looked at her lap as Arthur carefully crafted a response.

"Yes, they would probably be something similar," he agreed.

"Are there any other long-lost twins I should be careful of stumbling upon?"

Arthur smirked. "Nope, that was it."

"What about other siblings? Your parents?"

"Hm," Arthur said. "I don't have any other siblings. And my father is dead."

"Your poor mum," Eames breathed. "Husband dead, son vanished and presumed dead. It's amazing Adam's so charming."

"He could've turned into a gangster like me," Arthur said sarcastically.

Eames chuckled. "Who's older?"

"Adam. By ten minutes."

"Really?" Eames looked thoughtful. "I always pegged you as being the oldest, back when I assumed you had a whole colony of siblings you were hiding." Eames turned to Ariadne. "How about you? Siblings?"

"A brother and a sister," she said. "I'm the youngest."

"By how much?"

She sighed. "Well, Zach is thirty-two now, and Josie is twenty-nine…"

"Six years?" Eames chuckled. "Bonus baby, were you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Edward."

Eames wanted to talk about Arthur again. "You knew about Adam," he told Ariadne. Arthur listened intently, but kept his gaze on the road. "Because you figured out who Morgan was talking about before he did. What gave him away, incidentally?"

She swallowed. "Her eyes. They're the same." Arthur looked at her, fixing her with the familiar auburn color.

"I see," Eames said, pressing on. "You knew about Adam. But he clearly didn't know who you were. You've never met."

"That's kind of why he introduced himself," Ariadne said sardonically.

Arthur stared at her. "He introduced himself?"

"Yeah," she said. "After he repeated how thankful he was we found her, he said his name was Adam Zaleski, and then he introduced us to Lily and Tom. About what Morgan said about you… I told him she got you confused with him because you have similar hair. And he laughed—just like you—and said, 'good-looking guy, I'm sure.'"

Arthur laughed, identical to Adam's. "He loved that joke. When we were kids we used to ask people who was more handsome."

"Who won that?" Eames asked.

"Me, of course."

"You should've asked who was humbler," Eames muttered. Arthur chuckled. Eames pressed on, as if just remembering why they were discussing this. "Does this mean Arthur has never met any of your family?"

Ariadne hesitated before answering. "He has not, that's correct."

"Okay, so what's your excuse?"

She rolled her eyes again. "I don't want him to? My parents would flip." Beside her, Arthur was smirking widely.

"Why?" Eames asked.

"Because he's older than Josie," Ariadne explained. "And because I'm only twenty-three but I've been living with him for nine months. They're not strict traditionalists, but they subscribe to the idea of marriage before co-habitation and all that."

Eames guffawed. "Do they know he's in the picture?"

"Um, sorta. They know I have a boyfriend."

"How long have you been dating that boyfriend?"

Ariadne sighed, caught. "I told them about him last July."

Arthur was laughing now. "Only because you needed to explain why they wouldn't be able to reach you for three weeks." At Eames' look, he clarified, "We took a trip in the Mediterranean."

"I understand," Eames said tensely, staring at Ariadne. "You're not living in a dormitory at your school in Paris anymore, though."

"I never did," Ariadne corrected him. "I'm a graduate student, not an undergrad."

"Who do they think you're living with then? They can't be so naïve as to think you can afford a place in Paris on your own."

She nodded. "They think I'm living with a friend of mine. Her name is Alison, she's a painting student."

"Does Alison exist?"

"Yes," Ariadne snapped. Arthur nodded beside her and helpfully added, "I've met her."

"What does she think of you?"

Arthur smirked smugly at Ariadne, who realized too late what was coming. "She thought I was 'extremely hot.'"

Eames laughed loudly at that. Arthur smirked widely, his own amusement obvious. Ariadne turned bright red as she rolled her eyes, fighting to keep her composure and unflappability.

"Really," Eames said. "What did you say to that?"

"Thank you," Arthur said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Eames waved a hand, ignoring Arthur. "No, you," he clarified, nodding at Ariadne.

She sighed. "I told her she was right."

Arthur pulled up to the warehouse, parking the car in its usual spot beside the warehouse. Eames, still chortling, got out. Arthur made to follow, but Ariadne grabbed his wrist, preventing him. He spun around to look at her, but her eyes were on Eames, watching as the forger walked to the front door. Eames only turned around once, looking confused as to the sudden silence behind him. But when he saw that Arthur and Ariadne were still sitting in the car, he simply raised a hand in farewell. The warehouse door slammed shut behind him and Ariadne breathed again.

"He's a good guy," Arthur murmured, more to himself than Ariadne. "Even if he annoys the shit out of me, I can't deny that he's got his heart in the right place."

Ariadne let go of his wrist, and unbuckled her seat belt, but remained still otherwise. Arthur waited for her to speak, and when she didn't, he decided to.

"Ariadne," he said quietly. "What are you doing?"

She swallowed, lifting her hands (the flowers resting in her lap) and placing them on either side of Arthur's face. He froze, staring at her, his surprise paramount.

She blinked. "I miss you."

He took a deep breath. "You know that I miss you."

"I don't really know what to do without you," Ariadne admitted quietly.

"Me too," he admitted, his voice throaty. Ariadne leaned towards him and he mirrored her, until their faces were inches apart. She studied his eyes and began to move her face closer to his, but he spoke again.

"Ari," Arthur murmured. He pulled away, grabbing the steering wheel but keeping his body turned towards her. He kept his eyes closed, as if he could block out the sight of her. He finally opened his eyes and looked right at her; she was floored by how harsh his looked.

"Ari, if you're going to kiss me, you'd better be taking me back."

Though that kind of pronouncement shouldn't have been surprising, it was. Ariadne's breath came out in a loud whoosh.

"I…" She hesitated, and Arthur took advantage. He didn't need her to say it.

"Because I can't do that," he said quickly. "I can't let you in like that only for you to leave again right after. That'll only break my heart even more."

Ariadne felt her own heart sink in horror. "I didn't break your heart."

"I beg to differ."

She thought of how Arthur had behaved earlier, the way he smiled at her in the farmers' market, how he gave her the flowers with that searing kiss on her cheek. This was a radically different Arthur, and she wasn't a fan.

"Arthur," she whispered. "I'm so-"

"Don't be sorry," he snapped. "Don't say you're sorry. It doesn't mean a thing to me. I might believe it when you start to love me again."

"I do," she rasped, her voice suddenly lost. "I do, I love you-"

"Please don't," he said brutishly. "Old habits, Ariadne. You need to forgive me before you can love me again. And you sure as hell don't forgive me yet. _I know you_, Ariadne. And I know you aren't ready to forgive me yet."

He didn't wait for confirmation. He got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. Ariadne scrambled out as well, holding on to the edge of the door as Arthur walked away.

"Why did you give me flowers?" She yelled, seizing his attention.

He turned, looking surprised at the question.

"Because it was a farmers' market," he said, as if she should've realized that was his answer. He didn't elaborate, turning away and entering the warehouse. She blinked at the loss of him, and looked at the ground, fighting tears.

**Review, please. I also thought I'd throw out a shameless shout-out to my one-shot "Something That Belongs to Me." It's rated M, but that's just because it gets pretty violent, and I wasn't sure where the line was. I really like it, so if you have some time...**


	23. Enjoy The Silence

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Thank you for the favorites/follows (but maybe leave a review, so I can know what exactly you like about it?)... and as always LOVE for the reviewers. Iole17: you could be right, hm? LeslieSophia: more suspense is coming dun dun dunnn... While: I love your reaction, how great! I'm glad the motivations are making sense, though I'm sorry for your exasperation with Arthur, haha! And .85: I'm really glad you like my Eames, he's fun to write.**

**I really like this chapter, I think the psychology is fascinating. Heads up though: it's pretty violent/disturbing.**

**Chapter title from Depeche Mode. You'll have to listen to it/look up the lyrics to see why.**

Enjoy The Silence

Wednesday, October 12, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Warehouse: Micah

Micah rubbed the pressure points beside his eyes, glaring daggers at the book in front of him. It was one of his newer psychology textbooks, meaning he hadn't read it all the way through to paraphrase in the research paper he was supposed to be writing.

He'd missed almost a full week of school, and his work was slipping accordingly. Though Micah knew Professor Bristol had informed his teachers that Micah had been hired on to help run a once-in-a-lifetime experiment in California (Micah guessed they assumed he was working at Stanford) his teachers hadn't held back in sending him the piles of readings and essays he was missing out on. His email inbox was full to the brim, but Micah barely had time to do any schoolwork.

They were in full work-mode for the job. Micah found himself acting as a sort of assistant to everyone. He helped Yusuf drive around town to track down chemicals, gave Eames pointers in imitating Browning exactly, trained extensively with Cobb and Arthur and even held a ruler or cut cardboard with Ariadne. It was enough to make Micah feel like a full-time team member, even if he was the only one who didn't have a specific title or position.

"You're getting the full experience," Cobb had said when Micah brought that up. "Very few people in the world can say they've gotten to work in every possible area: extractor, point man, architect, forger and chemist. You do. When this is over, you can decide what position you want to market yourself as. Assuming, of course, that you want to come back."

If he survived the job, Micah fully intended to come back. But he was also sure that he would follow Ariadne's plan, and finish his graduate degree before. Just so he had something to show his parents, anyway.

He sighed, coming back to his present task at hand, reading up on the finer details of operant conditioning experiments. His eyelids felt heavy and he was tired, and it was only a little after 6 o'clock at night.

The warehouse was quiet. Eames, Cobb and Ariadne had all gone out for dinner. They'd invited the rest of the team along, but Yusuf, Arthur and Micah had all declined. Yusuf said he needed to stay at the warehouse and wait for something to finish boiling. Arthur had said he had too much to do and would get something to eat later. Micah had concurred, offering up his heavy textbook as an excuse.

"You need to live a little more, sweetheart," Eames had commented, looking over the cover. "Don't you ever party up at that swanky school of yours?"

"Not really," Micah had admitted, and immediately regretted saying so; Eames' face lit up like the fourth of July. He'd patted Micah on the back and promised to bring him back "something that'll wake you up and make you feel like a man." Micah didn't know what that meant, and he hoped Ariadne would prevent Eames from bringing a hooker back to the warehouse.

Micah looked back down at the book in frustration. It wasn't that operant conditioning confused him; he understood it well enough. But there was a point in here criticizing Pavlov that he wasn't quite sure about. Micah sighed, irritated with himself.

Micah glanced across the room. Yusuf was reading the newspaper, leaning back in his chair, while a mysterious blue chemical bubbled merrily on a burner. Micah looked from him to the center of the room.

Arthur was laying in one of the long beach chairs, his hands folded on his stomach. His eyes were closed, his breathing even; beside him, the PASIV hummed along, pumping the dreaming drug through his system. To Micah, Arthur looked more relaxed and calm than he had in days.

_He's been under for a while_, Micah realized. He tried to remember what Arthur had said before he'd gone under to dream.

_"I have to work on something. I'll be up again in a bit. Wake me if you need anything."_

What was it Arthur needed to work on? He wasn't the architect, he didn't have anything to build, and Ariadne wasn't here to show him the levels so he could plan their routes. He wasn't the forger, needing to practice his different appearances. Micah studied Arthur thoughtfully; he doubted there was anything Arthur could research in the dream world that he couldn't in the real one.

It hit Micah then as to who could help him with his schoolwork. Both Arthur and Eames had psychology degrees, but Arthur had gotten his from the same school Micah currently attended.

_He could definitely help_, Micah thought. Unbidden, his feet marched forward, propelling Micah across the room. Yusuf was too engrossed in his newspaper to notice, so Micah sat down on a chair beside Arthur's. He reached forward, unhooking a tube from the PASIV.

If Micah was being honest with himself, he would admit that the Pavlov questions were simply an excuse to go under. If Arthur found him down there, that's what he would say, alongside his reason to not wake Arthur up because he thought he was busy doing something important for the job. But the real reason Micah was going under was because he was very curious as to what the point man was dreaming about. What was it that Arthur could only get done in the dream world, and why would he need to be alone to do it?

Micah allowed himself a moment to gather his wits together before he jammed the needle into his vein.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing beside a sprawling house on the coast of what appeared to be California. In front of him was an open beach, which seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions; there were no other houses or people in sight. Micah studied the house. It was tan, almost blending in perfectly with the sand, and massive, at least three stories tall. There were windows on every side; it looked like the side of the house facing the ocean might've been completely made of glass.

Micah looked around and realized that Arthur must've been inside the house. He walked forward to the heavy wooden door of the house and pulled. It was unlocked, and he entered the house.

The inside was more colorful than the outside. Micah gaped at the walls, adorned with bright canvases of painted landscapes; he recognized the city painted in them as Paris. He kept walking, looking into rooms. The living room was painted a deep purple, filled with white and black furniture. He glanced into the kitchen, which was a mossy green that spilled into the dining room, which was an ethereal shade of blood red. The kitchen was filled with glass and stainless steel, the ceiling stretching, skylights sending in the lights of the sunset.

The dining room had an antique feel, the table thick and solid wood, the feet of the chairs curled. There were vividly colored vases resting on tables all over the place, overflowing with fresh flowers. Micah didn't know much about them, but he easily recognized lilies and lavender.

It was clear Arthur wasn't on this floor.

Micah found a wide staircase, made of the same heavy wood the front door was made of. He climbed the stairs carefully, but even if they looked old, they didn't squeak under him. He passed more paintings, all featuring different scenes of Paris.

Micah entered the second floor, which was painted in similar colors of the first, but there weren't separate rooms; instead, the reds blended into purples, and then greens and blues. It was all one room, what looked like an art studio. One side of the floor was spacious, wooden floors bare with only a comfortable-looking sofa, in front of an oddly placed fireplace. Micah wandered around the floor, glancing out the windows that showed an endless sea outside. On the other side of the floor was a massive desk, empty and organized, with stacks of canvases and cardboard placed around it. One wall was lined with thick and heavy bookshelves. Micah scanned the spines of the books, an eclectic mix: authors he recognized, like Hemingway, Orwell, Salinger, Twain and even David Foster Wallace were there, alongside lesser-knowns like Chuck Palahniuk and Lionel Shriver. Then there were dozens of textbooks on every psychological topic known to man, and more on topics like architecture, music, films and more. Micah gave the room one more long glance before going to the staircase again.

He climbed up another flight of stairs, realizing the stairs were narrowing and seemed to change shape under his feet. Directly above him, a round window illuminated the staircase in light, making Micah feel like he was on display. He was grateful to reach the top step.

It was almost like he'd entered the offices of a law firm. The stairs opened into a short hallway, which was framed on either side by potted plants of different species. There were two rooms to either side of Micah. He glanced into them, noticing the large windows in each, but was more distracted by the fact that both rooms were completely empty and painted white. A blank canvas in a house that was already so full.

Micah stepped out of the left room and continued down the hall. It was the shadowiest part of the whole house, and he knew he blended in well with the plants beside him. At the end of the hall was a set of French doors, painted a simple white and broken into a dozen different panes. One of the doors was open, spilling over the thick white carpet of the room it led to. Micah approached the doors but froze when he saw the room they led to. He pressed himself against the wall, doing his best to not be seen.

Unlike the rooms of the first floor, this one was painted a series of blues, light and dark. It reminded Micah of the ocean, the way the different colors were swirled together, creating waves of paint. The ceiling arched, meeting in the middle where a sparkling chandelier hung.

In the center of the room was a large bed, white like the rest of the room. The bed was okay; the people near it were not what Micah had been prepared for.

Though he ought to have.

Arthur was standing beside a window, something that was easy to do; the whole room was framed by glass, not a wall in sight. His shirt was off, his feet bare. He seemed to be in the process of putting on his pants, as he finished buckling his belt as Micah watched. His eyes were focused on the deep blue ocean outside, watching a glittering sunset.

"Arthur…"

The call came from the woman lying on the bed. She looked like Ariadne, but Micah knew she wasn't real: she was Arthur's projection. This Ariadne was very much naked, and not bothering to hide it in the slightest. She was tangled up in the sheets, her hair free and thick, her eyes on Arthur and her mouth smiling coyly.

Arthur smiled as she said his name and he turned, sitting on the bed, but still facing the window. Ariadne sighed, sitting up (Micah blushed, seeing way more of her than he'd ever expected to, even considering how much he'd seen Saturday night) and wound her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his bare shoulder. She kissed the skin there delicately, and Arthur closed his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked.

He finally turned his head, to see her face. "You. I miss you, Ari."

"I miss you too," she murmured. Micah watched as she kissed her way across his shoulder, over his neck and to his cheek. Arthur sighed, leaning into her touch.

"That's it," she whispered. "Come back to me."

"I'm always with you," Arthur said in reply.

She shook her head. "You misunderstand me, my love." She grabbed the shoulder she'd been kissing and pulled. Arthur let himself fall, so he was lying flat on his back on the creased white bed. Ariadne dropped the sheet she was wearing completely (Micah forced his eyes to stay on Arthur's face) and leaned over him, straddling his hips.

She leaned forward, placing her hands on either side of his head and looking into his face, her eyes on his lips. "Stay with me."

Arthur smiled. "You're not real."

"Close enough, aren't I?" She wondered. "I'm your perfect copy of her. I'm always here for you…"

"True," Arthur agreed. He stopped speaking as she kissed him, deeply and with a passion that made Micah greatly uncomfortable.

He wasn't totally sure why he was still standing there, why he hadn't turned tail and fled yet. It was one thing to see two people you didn't know behaving like this. It was another to see two people you did know (well, technically only one was real). Micah knew that if Arthur saw him now, that he was a dead man.

They were still kissing ardently, as if their lives depended on it. Arthur's hands were tangled in Ariadne's hair, resting on her back. She still had her left arm by his ear, but her other had wandered, to the pillows at the end of the bed. Micah almost cried out when she abruptly sat up, holding a gun to Arthur's forehead.

Arthur didn't even blink as she pressed the barrel into his skin. "Are you going to kill me, Ari?"

She turned her head to the side, studying him. "I should."

"Why would you do that?"

"You betrayed me," she snapped, suddenly sounding nothing like the real Ariadne and more like a demon. Micah's hands felt clammy, but Arthur remained the picture of calm. "You lied to me. You deserve to die, Arthur. I hate you."

Arthur ran his tongue over his lips in thought, still lying underneath her. "I'm sorry you feel that way. You sure didn't just a little while ago."

Micah desperately wished he could erase that sentence from his mind. Projection-Ariadne actually blushed, looking again like her real-life counterpart for a moment. It was all Arthur needed.

The point man grabbed her by the waist, spinning both of them in a fast move Micah (and Ariadne) didn't see coming. She screamed in surprise and the gun fired, shattering one of the tall glass windows. Arthur snatched the gun from her hand and threw it out after the fallen glass.

Arthur was now straddling Ariadne's hips, easily pinning her under him. His long fingers were wrapped around her throat. She was gasping, her nails scratching his bare arms, but he kept his hands still.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I have to kill you before you find a way to kill me."

He tightened his grip around her throat. Ariadne struggled more, but was unable to find purchase, unable to cause Arthur's hands to falter. He kept his eyes locked on her face as she tried and failed to crawl away. Micah felt sick as her struggles lessened, her skin turned an unnatural blue that disturbingly blended into the walls of the room. Her abnormally wide eyes stilled, and didn't blink again. It took all of thirty seconds.

Arthur let go of her neck and straightened, breathing calmly but with a devastated look on his face. He picked himself up off of her and stood by the bed, staring down at her broken body. As Micah watched, he leaned forward, brushing his hand over her face to close her eyes. The move was oddly tender, considering the violence that had preceded it. That thought was only increased when Arthur leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

Micah had no warning. One moment, Arthur was standing over Ariadne's body, the next, he'd picked up a white dress shirt and was walking towards the French doors. He froze suddenly, and Micah knew he'd been found out. Micah closed his eyes.

"Micah?" Arthur sounded stunned.

"Yeah," Micah muttered. He pulled himself out of the plants, awkwardly shuffling his hands in his pockets.

He knew he was in trouble when he saw the look on Arthur's face; it was murderous.

The next thing Micah knew, he was on the ground, blood spurting from his leg. He gasped, reaching for it, realizing too late that Arthur had had a knife tucked away in his shirt's pocket. His other leg met the same fate a split-second later.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Arthur yelled, towering over him. Micah gasped as Arthur seized him by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him up and slamming him bodily against the wall. Micah felt the knife against his neck as it cut in.

"I had a question-" Micah spluttered, his feet scrabbling for purchase, blood flowing down his legs.

Arthur noticed the movement. "You're going to want to stay still. I hit your femoral arteries."

"Yeah you did!" Micah screamed as the pain set in. It was like his legs were on fire. The more he moved, the more the pain increased. "Jesus Christ, Arthur!"

"I told you to wake me up if you needed anything," Arthur snapped, ignoring Micah's increasing yells of pain and terror. Micah had never seen Arthur like this, and he definitely never wanted to again. "What gave you the right to come in here?"

"I just, I just-" Micah choked as the ground began to shake. Their time was up.

Arthur noticed as well. He glared at Micah, the epitome of lethal.

"If I had more time, I would make this very painful," he said, his voice intense. "But I don't. So I need to improvise and make this fast. Lucky you." He glared at Micah, who was beginning to feel very fuzzy with the loss of so much blood. "Answer me this, Micah Harper. How would you like to die?"

"Die?" Micah stuttered. "The… T-The dream…"

"It's collapsing, but that doesn't mean I don't get to kill you first," Arthur hissed. Micah could feel the knife and realized how he was about to die.

Except Arthur unexpectedly dropped it. Micah stared, surprised that he would be granted absolution from his murder, only to realize Arthur had simply shifted his arms, the knife on the floor.

"Look at me," he growled.

Micah raised his eyes to Arthur's. He was staring into their icy depths when the point man snapped his neck with a loud crack.

Awake at last, Micah gasped, and for a moment, it felt like his legs and his neck were live wires. He scrabbled for purchase, falling to the floor as his hands flew to his neck. The needle from the PASIV was yanked from his arm, and the sight of his blood dripping freely again almost caused Micah to go into a full-blown panic.

He was aware that someone was screaming, and a heartbeat later he realized it was himself. A moment later, knees were beside him and Cobb's face swam before his eyes.

"Micah!" The extractor said, his voice coming from somewhere far away. "Micah, calm down. You're okay."

But in the next moment, Micah felt himself being lifted by the collar. His feet flailed wildly as he was dragged bodily, Cobb's face falling out of his vision. Micah struggled and managed to lift his head. His blood turned to ice when he saw that he was being half-dragged, half-carried by Arthur.

"No!" He positively screamed it, struggling to tear Arthur's hand from his shirt. "No, let me go!"

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Cobb was there again, ducking around Micah, placing a hand on the point man's chest. Arthur shook him off without a passing glance.

"This doesn't concern you, Cobb," he said brutishly.

"No!" Micah wailed, tears streaming down his face. "No, don't let him take me! Stop him! He's going to kill me! Help me!"

Eames was suddenly there as well, his face aghast. The world was starting to right itself in front of Micah, but his terror only grew. Arthur seemed to be pulling him to the back of the warehouse, towards the beach. Micah kept struggling, trying to pry Arthur's hand from his shirt.

"Bloody hell, Arthur," Eames said, his expression stern and alarmed. "The kid's screaming his fucking head off. What did you do to him?"

Eames suddenly fell out of sight, and Micah gasped when he saw why. The forger was clutching his nose, which was spurting bright red blood. Arthur had punched him.

"Get the fuck away from me, Eames," Arthur snarled.

They had reached the door, and Arthur stopped. Micah saw why: his last attempted savior was in the form of Ariadne. Micah took advantage of Arthur's pause, getting to his feet, only to be promptly put in a tight headlock.

"Ariadne," Arthur said, his voice completely unfriendly. Micah had never heard him use this tone around Ariadne. "Get out of the way."

She stared at him. "Arthur, what are you going to do to him?"

"I swear to God, if you don't get out of my way, I will make you," Arthur said without answering her question. "Do not test me."

There was a beat, during which Arthur glared at Ariadne like she was the devil himself. Ariadne stared back, flummoxed and stony. She took a deep breath though and followed Arthur's threat, stepping aside and opening the back door.

"Thank you," Arthur said emotionlessly. He kept walking, pulling Micah along with him, who was finding the headlock to be one of the more painful experiences of his life.

He could hear footsteps behind him, and knew Cobb, Eames and Ariadne were following.

"Arthur, what's wrong?" Cobb demanded, following them closely. "What did Micah do?"

"He followed me into my dream," Arthur said tensely. They'd reached the sand bar and Arthur kept walking like the terrain hadn't changed. Micah had to be impressed with how strong the point man was, even if he didn't look it.

Cobb's face appeared, and Micah saw how drawn it was. He looked at Micah sympathetically, and Micah realized Cobb was going to allow Arthur to do this.

"No!" Micah howled. "No, Cobb! Stop him, he's going to fucking drown me!"

"I'm not going to drown you," Arthur said in a clipped tone. "Your murder would put an unnecessary strain on this job, and that's something none of us can afford to deal with right now."

Cobb looked at Arthur sternly. "So what are you going to do to him?"

Arthur's nose twitched. "Hold him under water for a little bit. Don't worry, he'll be fine."

"Fine?" Micah gasped, launching into hysterics. His sobbing increased ten-fold. He hated water, for crying out loud. "Fine? I could die!"

"But I won't let you," Arthur snapped. "It's happened to me many times. You survive. It just hurts a bit."

Micah looked at Cobb. The extractor looked solemn.

"I'm sorry, Micah," he murmured. He stopped walking, falling from Micah's line of sight. Micah heard a whooshing noise as Eames walked into Cobb's open arm.

"Cobb!" Micah wailed. "Cobb, please! Please!"

Arthur looked grim. "Don't beg Cobb, Micah."

"Arthur!" Micah bellowed, changing tack. "God, please, _please_, don't do this! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it'll never happen again! Please don't do this to me, please, _please_!"

They'd reached the water's edge. Arthur kept walking, allowing his dress shoes and pants to get wet. Micah felt the cold ocean water swirling around him as Arthur walked them in, only stopping when the water reached mid-thigh. Micah sobbed and screamed the whole time.

"Take a deep breath," Arthur said, sounding like a robot. He grabbed Micah by the hair and shoved him under the waves.

It was quiet under the water. Micah's eyes flew open, keeping them that way even as the salt attacked his senses. He tried to fight the hands that kept him under, waving his arms frantically. But Arthur had chosen a good spot where Micah couldn't reach him. His arms were strong, not letting Micah come up.

It was like a fire had been started in his lungs. His heart felt like it was shaking, unable to move, while it was pushed through a meat grinder. It was the most pain Micah had ever experienced, and just when he thought he was going to pass out, he was brought up to the surface.

He gasped, his arms tearing through the open air. The hands that had been holding his head and neck down let go, but one latched onto his collar. Micah's eyes stung as he was spun and roughly dragged back, towards the beach. His feet only connected with land once before Arthur threw him, launching Micah forward and sending the student stumbling face-first into wet sand.

Micah coughed, fisting the sand between his fingers, feeling the bits of dirt and rock cut into his legs through his jeans. He was soaked from head to foot, and his lungs couldn't get enough air fast enough. He still felt like he was dying.

"It feels like hell," Arthur said. Micah could see the point man's shoes from the corner of his eye. Micah lifted his head slowly, looking straight ahead of him. Ariadne and Eames were walking back towards the warehouse, having stayed only to make sure Arthur really didn't kill Micah. Cobb was forty yards away, watching them, holding a hand over his eyes to block the sunset.

"Like you're being smothered, but worse," Arthur continued. "It makes you feel like you would do anything to end it, like death itself is a thousand times more welcome than it. So you wish to die, a wish that remains and haunts you even when it's over, because the memory of drowning has been branded into your brain." He was standing beside Micah, letting the tide come in and submerge his ankles. Micah continued to cough, but dragged himself forward, onto dry sand. Arthur walked with him and sat beside Micah.

Micah scrabbled away, and Arthur lifted a calming hand.

"I'm not going to do that to you again," he said gently. "I need to explain a few things to you though."

"I don't want to talk to you," Micah gasped, still crying. "Jesus Christ, Arthur."

Arthur looked sad. "I might have overreacted."

"Overreacted? You _might have_?" Micah asked sardonically. "It was just a dream. I didn't even really see anything."

Arthur's eyes flashed. "Micah, you think that was _just_ a dream?" He sighed, pulling at his tie and adjusting his vest. Micah looked at Arthur's legs, seeing the dark line on his pants from the water.

"Think about the house," he said softly. "What did you see?"

Micah shook his head, completely bewildered by the line of questioning. "I don't know. It was big. Colorful."

"Very colorful, true. But you're a psychology student. I need you to think of the details."

"Um…" It was hard for Micah to think so quickly and so soon after nearly-drowning. "There were paintings. Of Paris, everywhere. And there were a ton of flowers. And the bookshelves and the art studio." He paused as his brain put them all together, the dozens of clues he'd missed, so focused on finding Arthur at the time. He stared at the point man.

"Holy shit. That was your and Ariadne's house."

"Not exactly," Arthur disagreed. "But you're essentially right. That was my house. My dream house, literally. I've been building it for years, ever since I first started dreaming lucidly. When Ariadne entered my life, my mind reorganized the house for her as well. It's a calm place where I can go and rest, reflect and be at peace." He hesitated. "It's more powerful for me than any totem."

Micah felt warm. "And I was there…"

"You being there ruined that all in a single second," Arthur said. "And to be there at that moment, when I was at my most vulnerable…" His voice trailed off, his auburn eyes probably seeing Ariadne's naked dead body on his bed, the bruises from his fingers around her throat already turning black and blue. "It infuriated me. I felt like you'd stolen something that made me human, that made me sane. Something that was irreplaceable and completely mine."

"I'm sorry," Micah whispered.

"Oh, I know," Arthur said, nodding at the crashing ocean. "Even if your screams before weren't enough, that would've done it. Not to mention the loss of your femoral arteries and the snapping of your neck."

"Eames is right," Micah said. "You have serious issues."

Arthur laughed, and his wide and genuine smile only scared Micah more. Seriously, what was wrong with the man? "I do. I really, really do."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised you went batshit insane on me," Micah muttered. He raised his eyes to Arthur's. "I saw you kill her. That's why you were under, right? You needed to work on killing her."

"Well, yes," Arthur confirmed. "I didn't go under to have sex with her. She initiated that. I was just a willing participant." Micah flushed in embarrassment, realizing Arthur still wasn't quite aware of how much Micah had seen.

"I didn't see that," he muttered.

Arthur looked slightly amused. "You must be disappointed." At Micah's bright red face, he shook his head and brought the subject back around with, "Yes, I went under to see if I could kill her, and I succeeded."

"That's good, isn't it?" Micah pressed. "Now you can kill her projection before it kills you."

Arthur frowned, running a hand over his perfectly gelled-back hair. "Maybe."

"What do you mean?"

"It…" Arthur turned back to Micah. "It was so much easier to do than I thought it would be."

Micah nodded. "Okay… So?"

"Why was it so easy?" Arthur asked. "It should've been the exact opposite of that. I shouldn't have been able to strangle her like I did. I should've been fighting myself the entire time. She was so small, and so vulnerable…"

Micah flushed, all too aware of just how vulnerable Ariadne had been. "Maybe it was easy because she tried to kill you first."

"That's not it. That happened when I was training you, yet I couldn't do it then."

Micah gazed out over the ocean in thought. He understood why Arthur was so confused over how easy it'd been for him to kill the woman he loved. One might've said that Arthur was just a killing machine, a heartless assassin—Micah wanted to attest to that, after how effortlessly Arthur had almost drowned him—but he knew it was more than that.

"You hate her," he murmured.

Arthur looked at him. He frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Micah continued, remembering the discussion he'd had with Cobb and Eames.

"You hate her because she made you vulnerable too," Micah said. "She still does, because you love her so much. She's your Achilles heel. You'd do anything for her. Now you think she doesn't want you anymore, and you hate that you remain unchanged. You despise her for how she tossed you away after what you did, the murders you committed for her revenge. She's the first person you've let into your life in years. And she's treating that fact like it's nothing. You'd die for her; but you'd kill her, too."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the crashing waves that were mere yards away from the pair sitting on the water's edge. Micah knew his words resonated with Arthur.

"Shit, I think you're right," Arthur breathed. "How'd you figure that out?"

Micah almost told him about Eames and Cobb, but figured it'd be best to not. "I'm a psychology graduate student, remember?"

"That's right." Arthur smiled for a moment before his expression grew serious again. "Micah, I would like to apologize for what I did to you. I'm very sorry."

"Thanks, Arthur," Micah said fervently.

"Will you forgive me?"

Micah shrugged. "At some point. I'm kind of having a hard time looking you in the eye right now. Eames was right; you can kill like no one else."

"I'm not proud of it," Arthur said gravely.

"Speaking of Eames, he's going to want an apology for that punch. You've got one hell of a left hook, man."

Arthur smirked. "Thanks, I think. But Eames had it coming, and he knows it. I've been dying to do that since Ariadne moved in with him, I just never had a good enough excuse." He sighed at Micah's incredulous look. "What? I can't be jealous?"

Arthur got to his feet and held out a hand. Micah accepted it and allowed Arthur to pull him to his feet. He swayed for a moment but Arthur caught him, wrapping an arm supportively around the younger man's waist. Together they began to make their way to back to the warehouse.

"Micah?"

Micah coughed. "Yeah, Arthur?"

"Don't tell anyone."

Like he needed to be told that. "Arthur," Micah started.

"Yes?"

"You said you'd been held underwater many times," Micah recalled. "I was wondering… Why?"

Arthur smirked. "Because I wasn't telling the truth."

Micah's eyes grew round as saucers. "Who did it to you?"

"A series of Arab men," Arthur said lightly. "They yelled at me in Arabic, thinking I couldn't understand the threats they were making. But I did. I answered their questions in English and Arabic, until they got too consequential and critical, at which point I tried to tell them lies."

Micah caught on to the key word. "Tried?"

"Yes, they realized it unfortunately quickly. After that, they didn't do it to me because I was telling lies. They did it to make me tell them things. I had stopped answering their questions once the lies failed."

"Fuck," Micah breathed.

"My thoughts exactly. It's not a good story, Micah." He raised his voice, letting the topic slide.

"Here's another thing you need to know about me, Micah. If you piss me off, I may hold you underwater. But I'll always let you come back up."

He laughed at the look on Micah's face.

**Pretty grim, but... review, please**


	24. Hurt

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Yep, I wasn't kidding about the intensity and violence of the last chapter! Thanks to the reviewers! (And an apology to In. Blue .85, whose name somehow got mixed up when I tried to thank you at the beginning of the last chapter.) Iole.17: Interesting theory, and I won't say anything more than that. :) Eeyore08: love your username, and I'm glad you like Micah, I do too. Knuckiducki: Glad you liked Adam's introduction! We see more of the relationship between Arthur and Micah in the NEXT chapter, too, but here's a reaction from Ariadne in this one. And interesting that you think Arthur is psychopathic... you're not the only one. While: your enthusiasm is so invigorating to me! I'm loving it! I hope I keep pleasing you :) Bonniejapan and ItsNatalie: here's another chapter for you both! Thanks for reviewing! **

**Seriously, thanks reviewers. 3**

**And it's just hit me that I should add that Adam, Lily, Tom and Morgan Zaleski are all my Original Characters.**

**Chapter title from the song originally by Trent Reznor/Nine Inch Nails, but I like Johnny Cash's version more.**

Hurt

Thursday, October 13, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Kyoto Grand: Eames

Eames grimaced at his reflection in the mirror, something that was a fairly rare occurrence. He couldn't help it this morning, though. While his hair and eyes looked as normal and put-together as ever, his nose sure didn't. It was an ugly black and blue, held together by medical tape placed there by Yusuf.

_He fucking broke my nose_, Eames thought.

He was angry with Arthur, for sure. It didn't matter that he understood why—from Ariadne to Eames' attempts to prevent Arthur from extracting revenge on Micah—being punched like that was still uncalled for in his book. Of course he'd tried to stop the point man. Watching Arthur drag Micah away like that had been like a butcher carrying a lamb to the slaughter. It'd been impossible to watch.

What had that all been about, anyway?

_He was looking up at the center of the room as Micah started screaming. The boy looked ten years younger, like a terrified child as he was hauled roughly away by Arthur. The point man looked like a demon sent from hell to bring Micah there. Micah was responding as one probably would to such a situation, screaming bloody murder._

_Eames had raced over as Cobb tried and failed to get an explanation out of Arthur. But just moments after Eames had asked a similar question, he was sprawling on the ground, his nose spewing blood. And Arthur had just kept walking, impervious to the destruction he was creating._

_Of course, it was one thing to ignore Cobb and attack Eames; it was a whole other to threaten Ariadne. But that's what Arthur had done. Ariadne had quickly cottoned on to the fact that Arthur was unstoppable at that moment and wisely moved. Eames was enormously relieved. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to stomach the scene of Arthur hitting Ariadne._

_He'd stumbled after the group as Arthur led the way outside, grasping Micah in a headlock. Though he missed pieces of the conversation, Eames' bewilderment and fear had only grown when he managed to hear what Arthur intended to do to the boy:_

_"Hold him under water for a bit."_

_What kind of torture was that? Eames had started to run, fully intending to tackle Arthur to the ground in order to let Micah book it out of there, but Cobb's arm had prevented him. As Arthur continued on, he'd whirled on the extractor._

_"Are you insane?" He'd yelled. Ariadne stood by his shoulder, her chocolate brown eyes wide in horror, trained on Arthur's back. "He's going to kill him!"_

_Cobb had somehow remained calm. "No, he won't. He says he won't and I believe him."_

_"Fine, then he'll accidentally kill him," Eames had snapped._

_"No, he won't."_

_"You can't know that Cobb!"_

_And then Cobb's face was suddenly dark, though nowhere near as murderous as Arthur's. "Arthur has experience with this. He knows what's too much."_

_Eames had stared at Cobb. "How? How does Arthur know that?"_

_"Because it's happened to him many times before," Cobb had murmured in a somber tone._

_Eames had thrown up his hands. "Bloody hell, Cobb. We need to have a little chat about the point man, then. We can't have him going around and torturing people like this, especially people who are smaller and weaker than he is!"_

_Cobb hadn't responded, not that Eames had really expected him to. Instead, the three of them had looked out over the water, watching as Arthur marched in and promptly submerged Micah. The seconds passed, and just as Eames was about to run to the ocean to rescue Micah, Arthur let him up. They'd watched in silence as Arthur yanked the boy back to the beach, tossing him onto the land like a sack of garbage._

_That'd been enough for Eames. He'd turned to leave, aware that Ariadne was right behind him. On the way, he'd opened his mouth to talk to her but she shook her head minutely._

_"Don't. I can't think about him right now."_

_She'd sounded so tiny, so broken, that Eames had shut up. Arthur and Ariadne's relationship was in even direr straits now._

_Eames had enjoyed one of the more shocking moments of his life several minutes later when the back door of the warehouse opened and Arthur and a very soaked Micah appeared, Arthur's arm around Micah's waist, the boy using the point man as a crutch. He'd openly gaped at the scene as Arthur carefully sat the boy on one of the long beach chairs. Arthur had then straightened, cast a cursory glance around the room, picked up his jacket and left, the warehouse door slamming shut behind him._

_Cobb had wasted no time in going to Micah, laying a blanket around the boy's shaking shoulders. "Are you okay?"_

_Micah had nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."_

_"What did you do?" Eames had demanded._

_"Something I really shouldn't have," Micah had murmured. At Eames' stupefied look, he added, "Arthur apologized, okay? Can we please drop it? What did you bring me?"_

_And before Eames could respond, Ariadne was giving Micah the hamburger they'd gotten for him._

Eames splashed water over his face, clearing his thoughts. He gave himself one more quick look and exited his hotel bathroom.

In the kitchen area, he found Ariadne, sitting on the couch and aimlessly pushing around her oatmeal with her fork. Her eyes were glassy and rather red, and untrained even as they looked at the television. She looked exhausted, like she'd spent the night crying. But Eames couldn't help and reflect on how pretty she remained. Maybe she was one of those people who could make crying look good.

"Hey," he said gently. She looked up and immediately wiped her eyes with her sleeve, slightly smearing her mascara, which she must've never taken off.

"Hi," she croaked. She studied him. "Your nose looks awful."

Eames shrugged. "I've had worse. And Yusuf did a pretty good job straightening it out. It'll be fine."

"I'm sorry."

He stared at her. "Why are you apologizing? You weren't the one who hit me. Hell, Arthur would've done the same to you if you hadn't moved aside. You know that, right?"

When she didn't say anything, Eames realized just how royally screwed her relationship with Arthur was. The Ariadne of a few days ago would've been angry, defending Arthur furiously, saying he would never hurt her. Yet she didn't say a word now. She knew Eames was right.

Eames sighed at that thought. "I'm sorry, Ariadne."

"Don't be," she whispered. "I should've guessed we were done."

_Done_? He stared as she got to her feet, carrying the still-full bowl of oatmeal to the sink. The finality of her tone disarmed him. She was acting like she and Arthur had officially split up.

Maybe they had. Maybe yesterday had been the final straw. But why had she said 'guessed'? It sounded like Arthur had said something to her that might've hinted at an official end. Eames had no idea what that was, but wisely chose to stay silent. He grabbed a muffin from the countertop as he followed Ariadne out of the hotel room.

Their drive to the warehouse was quiet. Ariadne stared out the window the whole time, her expression oddly vacant. Eames didn't like it; he was seeing post-break up Ariadne, and she scared him. She wasn't laughing and full of life like the Ariadne he knew and adored.

He wanted to kill Arthur for making her like this.

_You son of a bitch_, he thought angrily. _She was so much better before you._

"Do you…" Eames swallowed nervously as Ariadne looked at him. "Do you want to talk?"

"About what?"

He shrugged, wondering if she was being evasive on purpose or if she honestly didn't know what he meant. "About Arthur."

When she spoke, her tone was harsh in its sorrow. "What about Arthur? The part where he was about to hit me or the part where he half-drowned a man?"

"Either or," Eames said. "Or maybe even how you feel now that you've, you know… split up."

"I don't," she murmured. "I don't want to talk about any of it. I don't even want to think about him. I've spent long enough doing just that, and I'm so tired." There was a short pause. "Shit, I don't even know what he thinks about me anymore."

She sounded so old and lonely. Eames felt his arm reach out, hand extended. Ariadne took his hand in hers, holding it tightly between both of hers. She stared out the window, biting her lip hard. Eames chanced a glance, realizing she was biting so furiously to keep from crying in front of him.

"You can cry," he said. "I'm familiar with crying women. Can't get enough of them."

She half-laughed. "Thanks, Edward. I mean it." And she clearly did.

"Sure, love," he muttered. "Anytime." He meant it.

"I'll be okay," she breathed.

He nodded. "I don't doubt that. You're a fighter, woman." She laughed again, and he was rewarded with a smile. He smiled himself, looking out the windshield and focusing on the road again.

Two cars were already parked in front of the warehouse. Eames recognized Cobb's blue Lexus (rented two days earlier) alongside Arthur's black Mercedes. Ariadne pursed her lips at the familiar car but said nothing. The moment Eames had parked, she was out of the car. She waited by the door for him though, and they walked inside the warehouse together, still holding hands.

"Oh good, you're here," Cobb called, looking up at them. He was standing in the center of the room, beside the PASIV, which was opened. Micah was sitting on a chair in front of them; he raised a hand in greeting. On the other side of the room, Yusuf was speaking to Arthur, waving his hands animatedly at a beaker in front of him. Arthur glanced up when he saw them, locking his eyes on Eames. He nodded. Eames gave him his own nod.

"What's going on?" Ariadne asked.

"I was thinking we'd teach Micah how to deal with a militarized subconscious today," Cobb explained. "It'll be good to see how he works with the team, too. We should do this now, because you're not quite finished with the levels, correct?"

Ariadne nodded. "So we're all going under?"

"Yes."

Eames glanced over at Arthur, realizing he actually felt nervous about going under with him; that was a new one. He shook it off quickly, taking off his coat and pulling up a chair alongside Micah's. Ariadne followed suit, sitting next to him on the chair.

"Whose dream are we going into?" She asked.

"Mine," Cobb said.

"Wouldn't want to go into Arthur's, would we? I don't fancy being drowned today," Eames said. He wasn't sure what made him say it.

Arthur stilled, fixing a chilly glare on Eames. "Heaven forbid," he murmured.

Cobb looked concerned about the exchange. "Hey. Remember; we're all on the same team. We're working together."

Though he was dying to do something, Eames managed to stay silent. He shrugged instead and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. Arthur and Yusuf joined the group, bringing their own chairs. Eames kept his eyes on Arthur as the point man rolled up the sleeve of his light blue dress shirt, accepting the needle offered by Cobb with a single nod. He noticed Eames' stare and raised his eyebrows. Eames barely blinked.

Cobb settled into his own chair. "See you in a minute." He pressed the plunger down.

Cobb had sent them to a city, not unlike the one Ariadne had built for the Fischer job. Ariadne noticed this as well, and moved in a slow circle, studying the landscape. Cobb hadn't changed much about their appearances, but Eames was happy about the size of his gun. Around them, the projections milled about, largely ignoring them.

Micah stopped his gawking to look at Cobb. "Now what?"

"Find my secret."

"You're joking." Micah waved his arms. "This is a city. Where would your secret be?"

"It's Cobb's dream, so we're looking for something that doesn't quite fit in," Arthur said. Eames watched as Arthur joined the small circle they'd made on the sidewalk. For some reason, he was dressed in all black, save for his white tie.

"What do you mean?" Micah asked.

"How about this: what do you never see downtown?"

Micah looked bewildered. "Um…Houses?"

"Bingo," Arthur confirmed. "There is a house somewhere in this city that's filled with Cobb's secrets."

"Hang on," Micah said. "You sound like you already know all about it."

Arthur smiled. "I know a few of Cobb's secrets, and I know how he thinks. But I don't know where the house is."

Micah looked at Cobb. "And you do?"

Cobb nodded. "Of course. I'm here as the subject."

"So what's our first step?" Micah asked Arthur.

Eames could hardly believe what he was seeing. Micah was acting completely normally around Arthur, like they were still casual co-workers. Like Arthur hadn't almost killed Micah the day before.

"We drive," Arthur said. He turned without a word, walking to a red sedan parked nearby. Micah hurried after him just as Yusuf pulled up in a…mini-van?

"Sorry," Yusuf apologized at the look on Eames' face. "It was all I could find."

"I'll go with you," Cobb said, clambering into the front seat of the van. He turned to Micah. "Yusuf will spend the entirety of the job on the first level, and Ariadne has assured him he won't have to fight off projections. He doesn't need this exercise. We'll follow you." Micah nodded.

Arthur succeeded in breaking into the car. "Let's go," he said. Micah opened the passenger seat, leaving Eames and Ariadne to slide into the back.

"Okay," Micah said as Arthur pulled into traffic. "Okay. We're fine. But when-" He ducked down as a sudden gunshot cracked the side-view mirror.

Eames cocked his gun and turned, spotting the dark van that had pulled up behind them. "Now, Micah," he said, answering Micah's unfinished question.

And Eames had to give it to Arthur: the man could drive. While he and Ariadne (who was a very talented shot) took down the projections on their tail, Arthur navigated through dozens of cars with apparent ease, even though it was a stick shift and he could only keep one hand on the wheel. Micah seemed to be holding up well, listening to and following the directions Eames shouted at him over the hail of gunfire.

"Jesus Christ, this is a militarized subconscious?" Micah gasped, ducking down again as a bullet buried itself in the dashboard.

Arthur abruptly took his hand off the wheel, spinning and firing at the projection that hovered near Micah's broken window. The projection toppled immediately.

"There's another rule," he told the kid. "Watch the driver's back. If I crash, we all crash." He turned back to face the road. "There it is."

Eames looked around and spotted what Arthur was talking about right away. A massive house the size of a skyscraper (so maybe it was a skyscraper) was on the end of the street. A white picket fence guarded the green grass of a front yard. The house seemed to stretch on endlessly, facing towards the bright blue sky overhead.

Arthur braked hard in front of the house and didn't wait for anything. He jumped out, everyone following. Eames couldn't help but keep one eye on Ariadne; he couldn't shake the need to protect her, following all the time they were spending together. He soon noticed he really didn't need to protect her; she definitely knew what she was doing, her eyes darting around for projections. Even as he watched, she took down two that were skulking in the bushes.

"Excellent shot, Ari," he told her warmly. She smiled. Arthur had looked around at hearing Ariadne's name but turned away when he met Eames' eyes.

The mini-van arrived, and Cobb and Yusuf got out.

"Nice driving," Cobb complimented Arthur. He smiled at Micah. "Hanging in there?"

"This is crazy," Micah admitted. "I've got the strangest adrenaline rush going on."

"Somnacin," Yusuf said. "That's what it is."

Micah looked interested. "Oh. Well-"

He was forced to break off as a new round of bullets exploded over the scene. Eames led the way into the house, muscling the door open. They spilled into a brilliant lobby, covered floor to ceiling in marble. He spotted a single elevator, one of those old-fashioned ones with an actual grate in front. Beside him, he was aware of Ariadne's tense shoulders at the sight. But she didn't slow down as she hurried into it, standing in the corner with Arthur, who'd pressed himself against the wall. The doors clanged shut.

"Edith Piaf?" Eames said, recognizing the singer in the background. It wasn't the right song for a kick though.

Cobb nodded. "Mal's favorite."

"Which floor are we going to?" Micah asked.

Arthur scanned the numbers. Before he could say anything, Ariadne reached across him, pressing the button to the basement. He looked at her in surprise. She ignored his gaze, turning instead to Cobb.

"We won't run into Mal, will we?" She asked.

Cobb shook his head. "I don't think so."

Eames wasn't worried about Mal. He nodded at Arthur, meeting his eyes. "What about a deadly projection of Ariadne?"

Arthur looked even-tempered. "I don't think so."

"How do you know that?" Eames demanded.

"I just do," Arthur said.

"Did you fix it? Work things out?"

Arthur sighed impatiently. "Can you please trust me to handle some things on my own, Eames?" Before Eames could retort, they reached the basement. The doors opened, revealing an empty floor. It looked like a living room, but Eames had been to Cobb's house before and knew it wasn't quite it. This living room was more modern, though children's art adorned the walls. He recognized the art from the offices Cobb had taken Eames and Micah to.

A side door opened, revealing they weren't quite as alone as they'd thought. Eames and Micah moved back into the elevator (Yusuf already cowering in it) while the others got out, hiding behind banisters. Even as he fired at the projections, Eames couldn't help but notice how Arthur had put himself between Ariadne and the projections. Ariadne would surely have noticed this, but she kept her expression focused, not allowing her mind to think of other things.

It took a while, and trashed the floor, but eventually the projections were dead on the ground.

Arthur straightened and stepped out from the banister he'd been standing behind with Ariadne. He ran a hand over his hair.

"Okay," he said, speaking to Micah, who was watching him intently. "Now we-"

**Bang**.

Arthur stumbled, his hand reaching out to grab the banister for support. His other hand flew to his stomach, clutching for the bullet that had ripped a hole in his abdomen. He looked surprised as he pulled his hand away to reveal bright red blood.

"What the-"

A second shot, following the first only by a second, buried itself in his thigh. Arthur let go of the banister and fell backwards. Ariadne reached forward instinctively, wrapping her arms around his chest. They slid to the floor, Arthur's head pressed against her shoulder, her hands fluttering over his chest.

"Arthur, Arthur," she gasped. Arthur wasn't watching her, though. He was staring at Eames.

"You shot me!" He yelled. "Why?"

"Because I don't trust you," Eames snapped, lowering his gun. Blood was pounding through his ears. "And because I don't understand why Micah does still. As far as I know, you're an unhinged lunatic who will kill me at any second."

Ariadne's hands fluttered uselessly over the bullet holes, one hand on his stomach, the other on his leg, like she was trying to decide how best to fix them. She settled for giving up (realizing that Arthur was losing blood far too quickly to do anything) and took one of his hands in hers, moving her free hand to cradle his head. The sight, coupled with the earlier catalyst of the way Micah seemed to religiously follow Arthur, made Eames see red. Why was no one seeing Arthur for what he was; a sociopath?

"Edward, how could you?" She asked. He couldn't believe how hurt she sounded. He hated it.

"You _bastard_," Arthur hissed. "I wouldn't-" But he stopped talking and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the floor. Ariadne's hands were bright red with it. You could see her realize this and her eyes widened in horror.

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. "Keep going, Micah. The safe is at the end of the hall."

"Arthur, are you okay?" Micah asked.

"I'll die in a minute. You need to get to that safe before the projections come."

Micah looked appalled. "We can't just leave you here-"

"We have to," Cobb interjected. He touched Micah's shoulder. "That's a fact of the job you need to realize. We have to leave people behind to save others. Luckily, in this scenario, Arthur will wake up when he dies. Of course…" Cobb looked at Eames, his expression very unfriendly. "We shouldn't have to expect our team mates to start shooting each other."

"Hm." Arthur swallowed suddenly, and his free hand flexed reflexively, trying to mask the pain of bleeding out. Ariadne shifted him, leaning around to look at his face, still propping him against her. Their eyes met.

Eames glowered at Cobb. "Look, don't act like I'm out of line here. I said we needed to talk about him-"

"-Kill me. Please."

"-And now we have the opportunity!" Eames spat. "Bloody hell, Cobb can't you see how deranged he's behaving-"

"Close your eyes."

A third bang made Eames freeze. He whipped his head around.

Ariadne slowly lowered Arthur to the floor. His eyes were closed, and a single hole on the side of his head spilled blood onto the ground around her feet. She let go of his hand and rose to her feet. Blood dotted her face and she shakily wiped it off.

"Let's go," she whispered.

Eames gawked at her openly, aware Cobb was doing the same.

"You shot him," Cobb realized.

She glared at the extractor. "Yes. He wanted me to. He was dying, Cobb. He didn't want to bleed out, and I really didn't want to watch him die that way."

Micah was staring at Arthur's body on the ground, his eyes taking in the copious amounts of blood that were just now beginning to slow.

"But he's okay?" He checked.

Ariadne nodded. "He's awake now." She clenched the gun in her hand, glaring at the men before her. "Can we just get this over with?"

Eames was stunned. He thought of Arthur, unable to kill just a projection of Ariadne, even as she threatened him. Maybe the difference was that he'd asked her to shoot him.

Or maybe… Part of her wanted to kill him. Eames found the idea interesting.

Ariadne led the way, Micah hot on her heels, to the safe. She reached it and ran her hands over it intently. She hesitated for only a moment before beginning to spin the dial, mouthing numbers to herself.

Eames' curiosity was piqued. "What are you doing?"

A quiet click answered that. Ariadne pulled the safe open, revealing a manila envelope. She gave it to Micah.

"Cobb's secrets," she said.

"I am impressed," Cobb said. "How did you know the combination?"

Ariadne explained as Micah tore open the envelope. "Arthur told me that we all have our tells, that the supposedly secret numbers of our subconscious can easily be found in real life based on important things. You love your children more than anything, Cobb. I remembered their birthdays. Philippa, December 13: 1213. James, November 20: 1120. Comes out as twelve, thirteen, eleven, twenty."

Cobb raised an eyebrow. "How did you know their birthdays?"

"Arthur told me. I helped him pick out Philippa's last birthday present." Ariadne looked away, watching Micah as he scanned the envelope. "What is it?"

Micah frowned. "I…" He didn't say anything else, instead choosing to hold up a piece of paper.

It was a hand-drawn smiley face.

Cobb grinned at the sight. "Sorry, Micah," he apologized. "I can't have you seeing all my secrets, can I?"

Micah looked severely disappointed. "Wait, so-"

"-Arthur knew," Cobb confirmed. "He knew I wouldn't have anything of value in here. But he followed the same procedure we will in Fischer's subconscious. Well done, Micah. You passed with flying colors."

Micah couldn't help but smile, looking at the drawing in his hands. "Who made this?"

"Me."

"Cute," Yusuf muttered.

Cobb nodded. "Thanks." He turned abruptly, walking over to the group of couches and chairs near the safe, surrounded by piles of children's toys and even a few beanbags. He looked at them.

"Take a seat," he said. "It seems there's something we need to talk about."

Or someone, Eames thought. But he nodded, flopping down on a thick leather couch. Ariadne sat in a red armchair nearby, while Micah looked pleased to sit on a plushy blue armchair. Yusuf sat beside Cobb on the biggest couch, a nice black one.

"Okay, Eames," Cobb began. "You have a problem with Arthur."

Eames nodded furiously. "Yeah, I do. Cobb, the man is a psychopath. He half-drowned Micah yesterday."

"He had his reasons." Eames was stunned to see that comment came from Micah. He whirled on him.

"Care to share with the class, Micah?" He demanded. "Because the rest of us-" He indicated himself, Ariadne, Yusuf and Cobb "-Just saw you wake up yesterday, screaming your bloody head off, and Arthur picking you up and dragging you away. Do you remember what you were saying? 'He's going to kill me, stop him, please don't do this!' You were begging for your life. You were absolutely sure you were about to die."

Micah swallowed. "Yeah, I was."

"What happened in the dream?" Eames asked.

Cobb interrupted. "Eames, maybe Micah doesn't want to-"

"I don't care!" Eames yelled. "Come on, Cobb! Stop defending him! There's nothing that justifies holding someone under water against their will. If it's happened to Arthur before, then he'll be quite aware of what it's like."

"It's happened to Arthur a lot," Micah murmured. He and Cobb shared a look, and Eames hated how they felt united in knowing this secret of Arthur's.

"God dammit," Eames swore. "Does anyone agree with me that Arthur was out of line? That maybe he's starting to lose it, even just a little bit?"

Yusuf nodded his head. "I do."

"Thank you," Eames said furtively. He looked past Cobb and Micah, focusing on Ariadne.

"What about you, love?" He asked. He leaned forward, taking her hands in his. He hated to put her on the spot like this, but Cobb and Micah were too lost in denial. "Do you even recognize him anymore? Do you trust him to not hurt you?"

She swallowed, looking down at her hands, entwined with Eames'. Arthur's dried blood was still on them, and it was that detail her eyes latched on to.

"I trust him," she whispered. Eames waited, but nothing more came.

"Trust him to do what, Ariadne?" He demanded. He wasn't sure why he was yelling at her. "Not kill you? Protect you? Do you even believe he loves you anymore? Because, even after all I've said, I'm not really sure he does." Jesus, had he really said that to her? He'd been thinking about it…

Cobb looked stunned. "Eames, that's out of order."

"I trust him," Micah said suddenly. "Look, I know you think that maybe _I'm_ crazy for saying that." Eames opened his mouth to confirm this, but Micah pressed on. "But I did something really terrible to Arthur yesterday, and so he did something really terrible to me. We both apologized for it, and now we've moved on, and I still trust Arthur with my life. He'll get me out alive."

Eames' breath came out in a whoosh. "What was the terrible thing you did to him?"

"I followed him into his dream without permission," Micah said.

Ariadne spoke up.

"I did that to Cobb last year," she whispered. Everyone looked at her. Eames felt floored; he hadn't known that. Ariadne continued, still speaking so softly. "I followed him into his dream. Except it wasn't a dream; it was a series of memories. Of his children, of his time in Limbo, even of Mal's death." She raised her eyes to Micah, who looked amazed. "Cobb didn't even attack me when we woke up. He saved me from Mal in his dream, too. He just asked me to not tell anyone, and I kept that promise, even though I really should've told someone. I just…" She hesitated. "I don't understand what you could've seen that would merit a reaction like that."

Micah looked at his feet as Cobb spoke.

"Arthur and I are very different," he murmured. "We function differently. We have different life experiences that made us the men we are today. You can't judge our reactions against the other."

"But I can judge the way Arthur tortures people, right?" Eames demanded.

Ariadne looked at Micah. "Please, Micah. I want to know."

"I'm…" Micah paused, uncertain. "I really shouldn't say. I told him I wouldn't say."

"I know," Ariadne said. "But I _think_ I know which dream you went into. I just need to know one thing: how did the flowers look?"

Eames couldn't make head nor tail of the question, and from their expressions, neither Cobb nor Yusuf could either. But Micah certainly understood Ariadne's question. His blue eyes grew huge in amazement.

"You've been there?"

She smiled sadly. "Yes. Please answer my question, Micah."

"They looked fine," Micah said quietly. "Very beautiful."

Ariadne closed her eyes, a small, sad smile on her face. Her hands curled around the armrests of her chair.

"You're such an idiot," she muttered to herself. Eames could only assume she was talking about Arthur, and not Micah or anyone else currently present. She opened her eyes, looking straight at Eames.

"I'm starting to understand why Arthur panicked," she explained. "And no, I don't agree with it. But I'm beginning to see why. Just leave Arthur and Micah alone, Edward. This is between them. As long as you don't follow Arthur into his dream, you'll be okay."

Eames gaped at her. "Are you kidding me? Ari, this morning-"

"I know what I said," she murmured. She took a deep breath. "And I'm thinking about what you just said. Maybe I don't know what goes through Arthur's mind these days. But I trust him to be the point man, and all that entails. So please, Edward; drop it."

Eames couldn't quite understand what was going on, why something about flowers had been enough for Ariadne to give Arthur the benefit of the doubt. A memory came to him, of Arthur giving Ariadne a bouquet of flowers a couple days earlier at the farmers' market and the connection almost sent him reeling. Did that scene have anything to do with Arthur's dream that Micah had stumbled into?

Did it have something to do with Ariadne?

"He's mad!" Eames cried indignantly, trying to get the others to understand his concern. "He's finally cracked. Cobb, he can't do this job. There is too much wrong with him, the second level is going to collapse, he'll be carted off to Limbo and the rest of us will surely follow."

"He'll be okay," Cobb said.

"You can't know that! Maybe you can know that Arthur will know how much people can take before they drown, and maybe you can know that Arthur will protect us, but we can't know that he'll have enough of a mind left to save himself."

The floor began to shake and tremble around them. Eames stopped talking, recognizing that their time was up, that the dream was collapsing. As he settled in his chair, a hand grabbed his wrist. He looked up to meet Micah's eyes.

The student looked frustrated. "Don't stress about Arthur being unable to save you. Because he will. You're absolutely right, Eames."

"What do you mean?" Eames asked.

"Arthur will save us," Micah breathed. Ariadne, Yusuf and Cobb had already vanished, leaving just the two of them. Micah looked haunted, far older than his age in that moment.

"_But he doesn't want to save himself_."

The first thing Eames looked for after opening his eyes was Micah, but the student had already gotten to his feet and was walking towards the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Eames to stare in complete confusion at the shut door. What had that been about?

He pulled the needle from his vein and tossed it in the trash. As he gathered his bearings, he stilled, noticing that Arthur was kneeling beside Ariadne on the other side of the chair she and Eames shared.

His eyes were downcast as he held her wrist, expertly removing the needle, even though everyone present knew she was more than capable of doing that on her own. He placed a cotton ball against the tiny hole in her wrist and pressed down on it with his thumb.

He didn't meet her eyes when he spoke. "Thank you."

She nodded, looking at his hair. "You're welcome." As Eames watched, she reached forward and ran a hand over his hair. Arthur's whole body tensed at her touch, and he finally lifted his eyes to hers. They were dark and deeply unhappy.

Unable to stomach this, Eames made a show of standing up, his chair scratching the floor. Ariadne and Arthur came back to the present moment quickly. Ariadne jumped to her feet, ripping her wrist from Arthur's grasp and hurrying across the room.

Arthur looked at Eames, his expression once again callous. "Are you done?"

"With what?" Eames asked. "You? Not at all." He turned and walked away, following Ariadne, leaving Arthur to try and decipher his meaning in silence.

**Review, please**


	25. Hate Me

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Reviews are the best! I thank you all for them: Iole17; yes, it would appear so... Nina.4444; I'm so flattered, thanks for the praise, and especially for taking the time to read/review "Something That Belongs to Me"! 3 Eeyore08; I'm so used to it, it doesn't seem like the shooting came from left field, but I see why it would, too. And I try very hard to create adequate plot twists and emotion to keep y'all reading! L; haha, I'm loving your intensity! Interesting comment about Micah, read this chapter and maybe it'll give you more to ponder. ;) While; loving the response. Glad this chapter kept it going for you! In. Blue. 85; I've only ever taken AP Psych, but I try to read up on psychology when I can, so I'm glad at least parts are working! Knuckiducki; Eames has never been told what Arthur plans to do, he's just very confused/concerned right now about Arthur's behavior, and has yet to realize it could be only self-destructive.**

**Anyways, love y'all for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing! 3 3**

**And look at how long these chapters are! Neat, huh?**

**Chapter title from the Blue October song.**

Hate Me

Friday, October 14, 2011: Los Angeles, California: Long Beach: Micah

"I have to ask," Micah said as Arthur parked the car beside a steep cliff. The cliff overlooked the glittering water of the California coast, jutting sharply down to the ocean. In the distance, Micah could see a group of teenagers had started a bonfire. The sun had set hours ago, and the place was deserted. "Why this spot?"

They were parked on the side of the road, the car mostly hidden in the brush along the cliff. Arthur smirked as he shut the engine off. Micah glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 10:13 p.m.

"We're close to one of my favorite places in Los Angeles," Arthur murmured. "There's an incredible view just a little bit down the cliff. But we won't be going there, in case someone were to find us using the PASIV."

He reached into the backseat, pulling the PASIV forward and setting it on the dashboard. Micah watched as he opened it and began setting it up.

"Isn't this dangerous?" Micah wondered.

"The police will be too busy keeping an eye on those teenagers," Arthur said, nodding at the bonfire down the beach. "They won't care about a hidden Mercedes. They won't even see us."

Micah wasn't sure about that, but Arthur apparently was. The point man passed him a tube and needle, which Micah wasted no time in sticking in his vein. Arthur followed his lead, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt and setting his own needle.

He turned to Micah, eyebrow raised. "Ready?"

Micah swallowed. "Yeah."

Arthur looked like he was about to say something for a moment. But then he shrugged, half-glanced at the locks on the car doors to make sure they were in place and then pushed the plunger down.

Micah awoke on a smooth expanse of concrete, an odd and random-looking piece of human work in the middle of a gloriously beautiful beach. He looked around. He was in a port city, surrounded on all sides by large sailboats and expensive motorboats. In the distance were the lights of the small downtown.

"Where are we?" He wondered.

"Later," Arthur said. Micah spun around, spotting the point man. Arthur was dressed unusually casually, in dark shoes, jeans and a plaid shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up his elbows. Micah studied his own outfit: jeans and a red t-shirt, a pretty standard look for himself.

Micah tapped the hard concrete. "This doesn't look good."

"I'm not going to slam you on it," Arthur said. "But the footing is pretty standard for what you can expect on the job. It's easier than fighting on sand, anyway."

"I suppose," Micah said. He didn't feel convinced. At least sand would be softer and more pleasant.

Arthur straightened, as if he'd just realized something. His face was somber as he studied Micah.

"Micah, we don't have to do this," he murmured. "We can wake up, and Cobb can train you instead, if it makes you more comfortable. It doesn't have to be me."

Micah took a deep breath. "I know. But I want it to be you. You're a better fighter than Cobb anyway."

Arthur laughed. "This is true. Alright then." He raised his arms. "Hit me."

They fought for a solid half an hour, which felt at least four times as long to Micah. He was getting better; he knew that much. Arthur changed his strategy from being easy on Micah to using some of his real strength and focus. For the first ten minutes or so, Micah was taken down with apparent ease. But as Micah observed Arthur's strategies, he began to fight back, forcing the point man to try new tactics and new moves. Micah felt pleased, seeing the intensity of Arthur's expression as he fought Micah. He was making him think, making him re-evaluate how best to take Micah down. And he wasn't having an easy time of it at all.

They finally broke apart. Micah was stunned to see that Arthur was also breathing hard.

"That was good," he forced out. He straightened, putting his hands behind his head as he breathed. "Okay. Let's talk about the specifics of what you just did."

Arthur launched into teacher mode then, describing the pros and cons of each punch and hit he'd landed on Micah, while also establishing how each move would far in a dream.

"Remember, dreams are radically different," he said, standing and speaking to Micah, who felt like he was back in class at Harvard. "So there are certain methods we can use that would never work in the real world. Like this."

He paused his lecture every now and then to show Micah what he was talking about, and encouraging Micah to copy him. He then adjusted Micah's form and grip, explaining why it needed to be done exactly the right way.

"You will be deeply sorry if you ever put your thumb in your fist," Arthur said sternly as Micah tried to make a punch. Micah blushed, embarrassed.

That went on for some time, as the light shifted and the sun continued to move down the sky and to the ocean. At some point, Micah noticed the odd and ethereal colors of the sunset.

"You like sunsets," he stated.

Arthur nodded. "I do. It's my favorite time of day." He looked at Micah, sizing him up and then sat down on the edge of the concrete platform, taking off his shoes and burying his bare feet into the sand. He patted the space beside him. "Take a seat, Micah."

Micah did so, pulling off his own sneakers and following Arthur's example. The air was warm, and Micah didn't feel chilled, even as his sweat dried.

"You're very brave, Micah," Arthur said.

"What do you mean?"

Arthur smiled. "I mean the fact that you just fought me, when I almost killed you two days ago. Most people would've been terrified of me swinging punches at them, but you never backed down. Yet you also kept your head and followed a clear plan when you fought me. That took real courage, Micah, and I am impressed."

Micah blushed at Arthur's praise. "Thanks."

"You're a fast-learner, Micah."

"I want to do well at this," Micah said fervently. "I really want to get this right."

Arthur considered his words, running a hand over his face in thought. Micah studied the older man's face, how perfectly clean-shaven it was, how smooth, yet how old Arthur looked in that moment. He was just seven years older than Micah; but a thousand times more of a man.

"I have an idea," he said. "To get you to understand me a little more, and trust me a little more. I know you say we're fine," he said quickly, as Micah opened his mouth to protest. "But we're really not. You're never going to forget what happened. And that's perfectly normal, except I need to make sure that doesn't interfere with how you interact with me during the job."

"It won't," Micah muttered.

Arthur nodded once. "It won't, once we understand each other a little more."

"Okay…" Micah said slowly. "What's your idea?" He was envisioning intense military bonding programs, the kinds of hard work Arthur probably lived for. He really didn't want to do any of that, especially not with how exhausted he felt.

Arthur seemed to gather this from Micah's expression. He smiled widely. "It's simple, Micah. Twenty questions."

It took Micah a moment to grasp that sentence. "Wait. Did you say twenty questions?"

"I did."

He gaped at Arthur for a moment. "You know twenty questions?"

Arthur stared at him. "It's twenty questions, Micah. There isn't a whole lot that needs to be explained." He continued speaking, facing the ocean. "We each get to ask the other twenty questions about anything. Complete honesty, no lies. But that person gets three opportunities to veto and refuse to answer."

"Anything?" Micah repeated.

Arthur nodded. "That's the beauty of understanding, Micah. Would you like to go first or should I?"

Micah didn't even know where to start with Arthur. "You go first. But don't you have a distinct advantage? You already know everything about me."

"Facts, Micah," Arthur corrected him. "I know facts. That says nothing about character." Beat. "My first question: why did you choose to go to Harvard? You were also accepted into Columbia and Yale."

Micah smiled, pleased at how easy he could answer the question. "I'd think that's obvious. It's frigging Harvard. The best and most widely known school in the United States. I couldn't say no. Plus, their psychology program is awesome." He paused. "And yeah, the fact that shared dreaming has some origins there made an impact on my decision. I was interested."

"How did you first hear about shared dreaming?"

"Seth told me about it," Micah said. "I was fifteen, and he was at boot camp. He called to tell me the military had this program called shared dreaming, where soldiers could go in and shoot each other without having to worry about the consequences. Like a stress-reliever."

"Hm." Arthur didn't look at all surprised by Micah's story. Instead, he continued his rapid questioning.

"If Seth walked up to you in the real life tomorrow, what would you say to him?"

"I'm sorry," Micah murmured. "Sorry for leaving him when he needed me, sorry for running away to New York. And I'd tell him he was the best friend I could ever wish to have, and that I forgive him for killing himself."

"Are you into shared dreaming because of Seth?"

"Partly," Micah admitted. "He definitely got me thinking about it. After he died, I wanted to explore it more. Also because… I heard that you could mold projections into people you knew, and that you could talk to them. I wanted to talk to Seth again."

Arthur nodded, his expression telling Micah that he'd assumed as much.

"What will you do after the job is done?"

"Go back to Harvard," Micah said. "And then I'll get my degree, call up Cobb and see if he can find me a job."

"You really want to come back to this?"

Micah smiled. "I love it, Arthur. I love the freedom, the power of it all. It's exhilarating. Or I'm just addicted to the somnacin."

"No, I know what you mean," Arthur disagreed. "If you had a tattoo, what would it be?"

"It'd be on my shoulder," Micah said. "And I think it would be an eagle with Seth's name on it." At Arthur's look, Micah added, "Hey, he was in the army. He was super patriotic."

"What is your most treasured possession?"

That was odd. "My compass."

Arthur smiled. "Why is your totem a compass?"

"I used to go hunting with my dad," Micah explained, fishing the compass from his pocket. He opened it, watching the needle swirl wildly in circles. "And every time we went out, he'd ask me over and over again, 'do you have your compass, where is your compass?' I forgot it once and I've never heard the end of it. It reminds me that I need to know where I'm going, whether in a dream or in reality."

"That's good," Arthur said. "What are your siblings like?"

"Ben's really smart," Micah said. "But he has to work hard for it. School was always easy for me, but it wasn't for him. It was really hard for him to do well, and he used to get really upset about that, especially when he saw how proud my parents were when I got into Cornell. Beth is seriously artistic. She writes, poetry and all that shit. She also plays the cello and she dances ballet. She's completely different from Ben and me, but we love her to death."

"Where are your siblings now?"

"Ben's at the U of Texas," Micah said. "Working on a degree in Physics. And Beth's at Julliard in New York, studying dance and cello."

Arthur nodded. "If you could live anywhere in the world, where would that be?"

"Shit." Micah frowned in thought. "Honolulu, Hawaii. A big old mansion right on the beach. It'd be private, so I could just strut out there in my pajamas and no one would give a damn."

"What do you look for in a woman?"

"Hm…" Micah gave this question more thought. "Kindness. She has to be really nice to everyone she meets. And smart; I can't handle any of that bubble-gum blowing and hair-twirling nonsense you see on television all the time. Drives me crazy. And she can't be with me just because I'm raking in the dough."

"What makes you think you'll be very wealthy?"

"Cobb's told me what you guys usually can expect on a job," Micah said. "Plus, you're not dirt-poor if you're wearing three-piece designer suits and staying in first class hotel suites." Arthur laughed and nodded, not disagreeing with Micah.

"What do you hate most about your parents?"

Another weird question. "My mom's a nagger. I know most moms are, but she's over the top. All through high school, even when I pulled straight-A's, she'd always ask me if I'd done my homework, if I needed help. My dad's really strict. He's also intensely Republican, and I've leaned more to the left since I got out of Texas. We never really saw eye to eye. The only times we did were on our hunting trips."

"Who was the last person you said 'I love you' to?"

"My sister," Micah said without pause. "When we took her to Julliard. She gave me a hug."

"When you die, what do you want to happen to your body?"

"Cremation," Micah said. "And then scatter the ashes somewhere. Not sure yet." He eyed Arthur. "If I die on the job, give my ashes to my parents."

"Okay," Arthur said, without hesitation at the morbidity of the question or answer. "What's number one on your bucket list?"

Micah smiled. "Skydiving out of a 747 over a tropical paradise. I'd have to do it a couple times first though, because I want to go by myself and you need a special license to do that." He counted backwards in his head. "Two more questions."

"When were you at your most miserable?"

Micah swallowed. "When my mom called to tell me Seth was dead."

"And your happiest?"

"The first time I killed a deer," Micah murmured. "And my father told me he was proud of me. It was the first time he'd ever said it to me, and one of the last." He looked at Arthur. "That was the weirdest therapy session I've ever done."

Arthur laughed. "Good, right?"

"Definitely." Micah cracked his knuckles as Arthur shifted, as if physically preparing himself for the onslaught of questions. Micah created a list.

"What is your idea of perfect happiness?" He asked.

Arthur blinked. "Sitting on the banks of the Seine, at sunset, drinking wine with Ariadne. I'm free of Cobol and the dream world, and we have nothing to fear."

"What's the trait you most deplore in others?"

"Lack of compromise," Arthur said. "Or maybe vanity."

Micah stared straight at Arthur. "How did your father die?"

Arthur only hesitated for a brief moment. "He was murdered in Moscow. Assassinated."

"Why was he assassinated?"

"Because he worked for the U.S. military and was on a top secret mission," Arthur said quietly. "It was the eighties, but Russia still wasn't trusted. My father immigrated to California from Russia in the 1970s. He still had an accent, and was well-suited to deceive them. They figured it out though, and they killed him."

"Who told you your father was dead?" Micah asked. He was a firm believer of the flashbulb memory. He'd never forget how his books were organized as he sat on his desk while his mother sobbed: "_Micah, Seth is dead_."

Arthur's eyes were dark. "No one told me. I saw him die." Micah gaped, but Arthur continued. "We were all in Moscow, visiting him. My mother, my brother and me. My mother and brother went out to the market for food, and I stayed with my father in his apartment. There was a sudden pounding on the door. My father told me to hide under the table, and I obeyed him. I listened as he spoke to the intruder in Russian, and I watched as he was shot. He landed beside me, and I held his hand as he died. The assassin never knew I was there."

"Jesus Christ, Arthur," Micah breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"Next question."

"What's your greatest regret?" Micah whispered.

Arthur closed his eyes. "Not telling my father that I loved him, and that I would avenge him. Both were true, though the latter came much later."

"How did you first hear about shared dreaming?"

"After my father died, I experienced night terrors," Arthur said softly. "I've always been a researcher at heart, so I threw myself into trying to diagnose and cure them on my own. I succeeded, with the help of one of my dad's military buddies. His name was Monty Eliot, and he kind of took over the role of father after mine died. He gave me some books on psychology and he also taught me how to use a gun and how to fight, all before I was a teenager. Eliot was well-connected." He looked at Micah. "When the military decided to open a program of shared dreaming at Harvard, he recommended me. I went through a series of interviews and aptitude tests, which I passed easily. All because of Eliot."

Everything made so much more sense to Micah now. But he had more pressing questions.

"The time you were held underwater by Arab men," he began. "What was going on?"

Arthur shook his head. "Veto."

Micah tried again. "What happened to your legs?"

"Veto."

Micah sighed in annoyance. "Are those two events connected?"

At first, he'd thought Arthur wasn't going to answer. But then the point man sighed and murmured, "Yes."

_Holy shit, he was tortured_. "Was it connected to the military?"

"Veto." Arthur looked at him. "Sorry. You still have twelve questions left."

"What's your greatest fear?" Micah asked, allowing the moment to pass.

Arthur exhaled loudly. "Losing the people I love. To death, and losing them to life." Micah understood him to be talking about Ariadne.

"How many languages do you speak?"

"Fluently? Four," Arthur said. "English, Russian, French and Arabic. I know bits and pieces of Spanish and Italian though."

"When and where were you happiest?" Micah wondered.

Arthur's lips bent in a smile. "Last November. Ariadne and I were having dinner in my apartment, and I told her I'd cleaned out one of my extra rooms for her to use as a work space, and she told me she loved me. It was the first time she'd ever said that to me."

"If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?"

"I'd be more forgiving," Arthur said.

"What did you want to be when you were a kid? Assuming it wasn't a point man."

Arthur laughed. "I wanted to be a commercial pilot. You know, so I could fly, and be completely free."

Micah smiled. "Awesome. Who are your real-life heroes?"

"I'm a fan of Matt Taibbi," Arthur said. "I always read his articles. I respect Dexter Filkins—he wrote for the New York Times—and George Orwell is my favorite author."

"A lot of writers," Micah noted.

"I read a lot," Arthur admitted. Micah thought of the bookcases in his dream house. "Next question."

"Which talent would you most like to have?"

"I wish I could play the piano better," Arthur said. "My brother's really good, but I never got the hang of it. And I wish I could forge like Eames can. Then I would never have to work with him. You've got five left, Micah."

"Excluding Ariadne, who did you last say 'I love you' to?"

"Cobb's kids," Arthur murmured in a sad tone. "I'm their godfather, did you know that?" Micah shook his head and Arthur continued. "I call them up a couple times a year, always on their birthdays. The last time I spoke to them was right after Ari and I got back from the Mediterranean, and they called to say hello. They told me they missed me; I promised I'd be in the States for James' birthday in November."

For some reason, Micah thought this was the most personal thing he'd asked Arthur yet. A thought occurred to him.

"Why are there empty rooms on the top floor of your house?"

Arthur gave him a look, but surprised Micah by answering. "They're for my kids. Assuming I'd have some one day."

Micah wanted to know more about that, but he had other things that he really wanted to ask Arthur.

"Why is your totem a die?"

"Because it reminds me of my father," Arthur said, pulling the red die from his pocket. "He always told me that life is about making your own luck. It's never just a game of chance. It all happens for a reason." He flicked the die around his fingers. "Funny. Both our totems have to do with our fathers."

Micah's voice was soft. "What do you want your last words to be?"

"What makes you think I've thought about that?" Arthur glanced at Micah, who opened his mouth to ask a different question, only for Arthur to wave him off. "I hope they'll be to Ariadne. Not disgustingly sappy or anything, but enough for her to know that I've always loved her, that I never regretted loving her, and that I'm sorry for any pain I caused her. I hope she'll be able to tell me she forgives me before I die."

Micah waited for more, but Arthur didn't say anything. So he asked his last question.

"I've asked when and where you were happiest. When and where were you saddest?"

Arthur looked out over the dark ocean. The sun had long since set, and they were sitting under a tranquil black sky.

"My hotel room, last Saturday night," he said at last. "When I saw the look on Ariadne's face as she left and I realized she didn't love me anymore." He looked at Micah. "She keeps saying she does still, but she just can't let go. She's nostalgic for what we had. She fails to realize that my behavior right now isn't erratic or odd; it's wholly me. There's nothing wrong with me."

He got to his feet, and Micah hastened to follow him. The therapy session was over.

"I have one more question," he whispered.

Arthur sighed. "That would be twenty-one questions then."

"Please," Micah said urgently.

"Fine," Arthur said. He faced Micah, hands in his pockets.

"You don't think she loves you," Micah murmured. "But you still love her. So tell me this: are you still planning to die so she doesn't have to?"

Arthur nodded once. "Yes."

Micah gaped at him. "How can you do that?"

"Is that another question?" But Arthur's tone was light and teasing, as if Micah was asking him a pleasant query into his childhood. He turned and began to walk down the beach and Micah followed.

"If she dies and I don't, I'll have to change my greatest regret," Arthur said. "Does that answer your question?"

_Not really_, Micah thought. "What are you going to do now? Since you think you're going to die, and all that…"

Arthur smiled, in a really pathetic and sad kind of way. "I'm going to take every moment she gives me. Right up until she realizes she's just trying to relive our relationship, and she leaves."

Micah was pretty sure that was the saddest thing he'd ever heard, including all the stuff that Arthur had told him about his father. But he nodded instead of saying any of that.

Arthur smiled at that. "You're a good person, Micah. And I want to give you some advice: Cherish your dreams. Because, too soon, they're going to go away and you'll only be able to dream with the PASIV."

"You don't dream anymore?"

"No," Arthur said quietly. "Well, I did have my first real dream in ten years a few months ago. But then Cobb brought me into this job, and, well…"

Micah grimaced. "What was it about?"

"My dream?" Arthur frowned in thought. "Jesus, I'm not sure… Oh." He smiled suddenly. "Yeah. Well, it was like a dream I think I had as a kid. A really common one, actually. I was flying."

"That's nice," Micah murmured.

Arthur stopped walking, and Micah saw why. The ground was shaking, the waves rising higher and higher: their time was up.

Arthur's hand reached out, and he placed it on Micah's shoulder, forcing the younger man to look at him.

"Are we better now?" He asked.

Micah nodded. "Yeah. We are."

"I'm glad to hear it," Arthur murmured. The ocean fell away.

Micah opened his eyes and took a deep breath, shifting in the passenger seat of Arthur's Mercedes. Next to him, Arthur was rolling up the tubes and Micah hastened to help, passing him the tube and following Arthur's lead in tossing the used needles out the window.

Arthur gave him a small smile and then turned the engine on, backing the car out of the brush. He pulled onto the highway with a screech.

"Eames kind of hates your guts right now," Micah murmured.

"I'm not surprised," Arthur said. "I broke his nose, and he takes great care of his appearance."

Micah shook his head. "It's bigger than that. He thinks you're nuts."

"Hm." Arthur stared out the windshield, apparently deep in thought. "Yes, I'm not surprised. Eames and I have never been on the same wavelength, but we've watched the other's back. I might dislike him, but I know I can count on him. But now… Things are different."

"Because of what happened with me," Micah summarized.

"I'm not convinced that's just it," Arthur murmured. Micah looked at him confused. Arthur looked old. "I think it goes deeper than that. Maybe to a level Eames doesn't even know about yet."

Micah frowned in pure confusion, searching his memory for the clues that might've tipped Arthur off to realizing why Eames was so antagonistic. He ran through Eames' various scowls and glares at Arthur, searching, searching…

"I don't see it," he said at last.

Arthur smiled. "Either you're naïve or I'm bitter. Or perhaps an odd mix of both." He turned to Micah, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. "What does Eames' behavior around and toward Ariadne look like?"

Micah's jaw dropped. "You're joking. You think he likes her?"

"Like I said, maybe I'm bitter," Arthur said softly. "I do tend to be jealous. But Eames has always been protective of her, even on the job last year when none of us knew her. He's very fond of her; he tells her that quite often. But lately… God, I don't know. Maybe Ariadne doesn't even see what she's doing. But they're always touching each other, he's got his arm around her, she's holding his hand; they look like a couple."

Micah opened his mouth to argue, but stilled, realizing that Arthur…Wasn't off base. Eames and Ariadne had been touching a lot lately, acting very friendly. He'd assumed it was because they were good friends; but they only knew each other as well as they knew Cobb. He'd assumed then that maybe it was because they were staying in the same hotel suite. But that made all the other clues suddenly took on a whole new meaning…

"He said some stuff in Cobb's dream," Micah murmured.

Arthur snapped his gaze to Micah, his eyes dark. "What did he say?"

Micah fidgeted with the end of his sweatshirt, an old nervous habit. "He was freaking out a bit; this was after he'd shot you and you'd died. He kept telling Cobb that you were insane, and unhinged. And Cobb kept defending you, saying he trusted you. Eames took Ariadne's hands and he asked her if she trusted you, if she even knew you anymore. And then… Well, he told her he didn't think you loved her anymore-"

Arthur's hands jerked on the wheel, and Micah fell hard against the window. Arthur swerved back into traffic, having moved so quickly in surprise.

"He said that?" He asked in a deadly voice.

"Yeah."

Arthur took a deep breath. "What did Ariadne say?"

Micah smiled, relieved he could bring Arthur some good news. "She asked me what the flowers looked like."

There was a short silence, during which a million emotions flew across Arthur's face. Micah recognized surprise, relief, heartache and concern. He took a deep breath, rearranging his features to a poker face.

"I told her the flowers looked beautiful," Micah continued. "And she seemed to take some comfort in that. She was real quiet for a little bit, and then she muttered, 'You're such an idiot.' Might've been talking about you."

"Probably," Arthur agreed.

"And then she said she was starting to understand why you…acted, the way you did," Micah said. "And she said she didn't agree still, but that it was something she was starting to understand. She told Eames to leave us alone and to not follow you into your dreams." He hesitated, remembering the words that had a heavy significance now. "And then Eames just stared at her and said 'Are you kidding? Ari, this morning-'"

"I hate how he calls her that," Arthur breathed out suddenly. At Micah's look, he clarified, "Only her closest friends and family get to call her Ari."

Micah frowned. "Well…Huh. This is going to make things even worse then. After he said that, she said, 'I know what I said.' Which kind of implies that she raised her own doubts about you to him earlier." Arthur's expression was frozen and Micah hurried now, thinking about how ripping a band-aid off at once was better than one bit at a time. "And then she said, 'I'm thinking about what you said. Maybe I don't know what goes through Arthur's mind these days. But I trust him to be the point man.'"

It was obvious to Micah that his repeating of Ariadne's words was the hardest blow to Arthur. The man gripped the wheel tightly.

"She doesn't trust me to do for her what a lover would," he murmured, more to himself than to Micah. "I'm just the point man to her now. Fantastic."

"She's not about to get together with Eames," Micah said quickly.

Arthur frowned. "You think too highly of Eames, Micah. He works very hard and very diligently to get what he wants." He looked at Micah, managing to half-smile. "Thank you for confirming my thoughts and helping me establish that I am not just a paranoid ex-boyfriend."

"I think she still loves you," Micah whispered.

"That's a kind thought, Micah," Arthur replied. They'd reached the hotel. The point man parked the car with ease and climbed out. Micah hurried after him through the lobby. In the bright lights from the expensive fixtures, Arthur looked twenty years older than his actual age; probably the physical age he would be if you could somehow count all the years he'd spent dreaming. "But she doesn't love me. I've accepted this, so it's time you do too."

They got into the elevator. Arthur's free hand (the other holding the silver briefcase) pressed the button for their floors.

"Do you need anything?" Micah asked.

Arthur actually laughed. "Wow, you really are a nice guy. I'm fine, Micah. But thank you."

"I just don't want you to be alone," Micah murmured.

"I'm fine," Arthur repeated. He gave Micah a comforting smile. "You can leave me alone, Micah. I'm not Seth. I don't need you to take care of me."

Micah blinked, realizing Arthur was correct in his guess of where this protective streak in Micah had come from. "I just don't want you to get hurt anymore. You're a good man, Arthur."

"Micah Harper," Arthur said in wonder. "You are, without a doubt, one of the most selfless and forgiving people I've ever had the great fortune to meet. And I can't give you higher praise than that."

They reached the floor Micah shared with Cobb. Micah got off the elevator.

"Goodnight, Micah," Arthur said.

Micah looked up, his pleading eyes meeting the point man's. "Don't give up yet, okay, Arthur?"

Arthur's mouth half-quirked into a smile. He nodded at Micah as the doors closed.

**Some of Arthur's answers are the same as mine... just throwing that out there to show some humility. I'm not THAT creative. And in all truth, his dream house is mine, too.**

**Review, please.**


	26. This Won't End Quietly

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Favoritessss, followssss and REVIEWSSS: Nina.4444; Original Characters also make me nervous, but Micah pretty much popped into my head fully formed, so I decided to explore his character a bit, and voila! Love your enthusiasm :D L; I'm impressed with how much thought you're putting into the characters-I'll take that as a compliment that they seem 3D enough to require some thinking on their motives. I'm not sure what you mean by "dramatic cheesy plot device", but I sure hope I manage to avoid it. Knuckiducki; 11 chapters to go! And that thing you mentioned about him maybe talking to Ariadne soon... :) Trina-D; thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you picked up on something going on with Eames/Ariadne, I kept trying to drop foreshadow without being over blatant: talk about difficult! Iole17: I'm so relieved that even if you're sad about the break-up, you understand Arthur's point of view! That makes me feel like I'm doing something right regarding character motivations. In. Blue. 85 and recey2010: here, we, gooo!**

**THANKS Y'ALL!**

**I'd also like to throw out something regarding Eames, that I'm not sure has been thought of by all: he does NOT know Arthur's plans: he's only seeing Arthur behave in a very dangerous, reckless way that could endanger all their lives, and he can't figure out why. He knows Arthur has a bad past, and he's worried that maybe it's starting to catch up to him and he's losing it. I'm not trying to make him the villain; I just think he's trying to save his own skin, which is a perfectly human thing to do.**

**Chapter title from the song by We The Committee. It's quite lovely, and very fitting here.**

This Won't End Quietly

Saturday, October 15, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Warehouse: Ariadne

Ariadne thought that it was almost comical, the way Eames' eyes bugged out when he saw Arthur and Micah that morning.

Ariadne was sitting at her desk, putting the finishing touches on her model of the second level. She was wearing the light summer dress she'd bought from the consignment shop she'd found just a few blocks from the hotel; her stitches had been acting up lately, and her jeans weren't helping matters. With only that one lace dress, she'd had nothing else to wear. Luckily, she'd found an ivory dress, fairly plain except for the black dots that patterned the hem and top of the dress; it was also strapless. She'd fallen in love at first sight, though the fact it'd only cost her $7 had added to that love. She'd just set the model down to dry when the warehouse door opened and Micah and Arthur entered.

Micah was laughing loudly, presumably at something Arthur had said. Arthur looked more casual today, with his customary dress shoes and pants (gray), a white dress shirt and matching gray tie. His suit jacket had been slung over his shoulder, and he wasn't wearing a vest. Micah on the other hand, was dressed more formally than normal, in dark jeans and a checkered dress shirt. They were both holding Starbucks coffee; it looked like they'd gone there together.

"…I don't understand why and how drinking coffee black is appetizing," Micah said, complaining about an argument he seemed to have already started with Arthur.

Arthur smirked, shrugging, with what Ariadne knew to be a full cup of black coffee in his hand. "Don't screw up the flavors. Coffee was meant to be drunk on its own."

Eames gawked at the scene, clearly stunned at the sight of them. Ariadne had to admit it was odd. They looked like best friends, the way Micah hovered closely to Arthur, the way Arthur let him. And when Arthur took off his sunglasses, Ariadne saw his eyes were filled with light. He looked happier than he had in days.

She hadn't noticed Eames had moved until his voice spoke in her ear. "They look like a couple of old chums, don't they?"

Ariadne straightened, realizing Eames had been leaning behind her chair, his arms on either side of it. She glanced back at Arthur and Micah, only to see Arthur turn away, like he'd heard Eames speak.

"Yeah, they do," she agreed. "I guess Micah's training went well."

"That's very bizarre," Eames noted. "If anything, I would've said Micah should be even more scared. He had to physically fight Arthur, after all. That should be his worst nightmare after Wednesday."

Ariadne bit her lip, privately agreeing with Eames. She felt nervous around Arthur, and she'd never been on the receiving end of violence.

Cobb, who'd just arrived as well, finished greeting Micah and Arthur (and asking what was so funny) and waved Eames and Ariadne forward. They got up, walking towards him where he stood in the middle of the room, but froze when they saw who he was standing with. Ariadne crossed her arms, wrapping her sweater around herself, tapping one of her black ballet flats against the floor. She wasn't too pleased either.

Cobb had arrived at the warehouse that morning with Browning in tow. The older man was wearing a steel gray suit and a crisp purple tie.

"Micah, this is Mr. Browning," Cobb said. Ariadne realized that apart from Yusuf (who'd already been introduced) Micah was the only one who hadn't met Browning. "Mr. Browning, this is our newest team member, Micah Harper."

Browning held out his hand and Micah took it slowly.

"You're nervous," Browning noticed. "What do you do, Mr. Harper?"

"Whatever they need me to," Micah mumbled. Browning laughed loudly at that.

"I like you," he said. "But I always like Harvard kids." Micah froze, looking confused, realizing Browning wouldn't know that information unless someone had told him. Unless, of course, he'd had top researchers find it.

Browning's eyes slid from Micah to Arthur, and Ariadne raised her eyebrows at the way Browning scowled at him. "Except for this man, here."

"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Browning," Arthur said, shaking Browning's hand tightly, ignoring the clear dislike in Browning's tone. "Any luck with that research project of yours?"

Browning looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "We're getting there, Mr. Zaleski."

Arthur nodded, not surprised in the slightest. "It won't be long now, don't worry." Browning's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Cobb cut him off.

"Now that we're all here," Cobb said with emphasis, sliding his eyes to Micah and Arthur. While Arthur stood, smirking at Browning's deepening dissatisfaction with his presence, Micah flopped down on one of the long beach chairs. Ariadne looked from Browning to Arthur, wondering what they'd been talking about. "I thought we could all go under and take a look at the dream. Ariadne, is that possible?"

She was surprised, but happy she had a good answer. "Yes. The second level is ready, but I'm not quite done with the other two."

"That's good enough for today," Cobb said.

Browning glanced at his watch. "I have a meeting in an hour, and I still need to talk to Mr. Eames about Maurice."

"It shouldn't take that long," Ariadne said. "It's just a house. We'll be awake in five minutes."

"Alright then," Browning said.

"If need be, I can just tag along and we can discuss Maurice in your limo," Eames said. Ariadne barely contained her giggle at the look on Browning's face, and Eames threw her a smile and a wink.

Eames had really been an incredible support for her these last few days. He was always around, and always game for whatever she needed or wanted to do. He'd almost gone with her to the consignment shop, except she'd managed to convince him that she would be fine on her own. He was amazingly protective, and while that could get annoying, she mostly found it flattering. She needed that right now, that comfort. When she was lying awake at night and couldn't sleep, she'd wander out to the couch, where Eames would often be; he barely slept, like Arthur. And then Eames would hug her tightly and take her back to bed, staying with her and keeping calm while she struggled to keep the nightmares of a dead-eyed Arthur haunting her at bay. Eames was her rock, he'd always been; she'd just never needed him.

They settled around the PASIV in much the same way they had two days previously. Cobb helped Browning with the tube, which surprised Ariadne, because that was something Arthur usually did. Browning clearly was not happy with Arthur.

_Join the club_, she thought.

Cobb stopped Yusuf, whose hand was over the plunger. (Yusuf wasn't joining them for this trip, as he would not be further in the dream than the first level.)

"And no one's going to shoot someone?" Cobb checked.

Browning stared. Eames and Arthur exchanged a look, and she was surprised at the amount of hostility between them. She knew why Eames was concerned about Arthur, and why Arthur was pissed at Eames (no one liked getting shot) but this seemed more than that, like there was more beef between them than anyone knew.

"No love lost," Yusuf muttered and she nodded silently in agreement.

"Think you can agree to that, Eames?" Arthur asked.

"Don't give me a reason to," Eames said, not really an answer at all. Ariadne looked at him but he simply shook his head at her.

Cobb looked frustrated, but didn't press the matter. They entered the dream.

Ariadne straightened and looked around the house she'd built.

It was on a cliff, overlooking the deep blue ocean she'd drawn from the one right outside the warehouse door. Fischer had grown up in a mansion in Malibu, and she'd done her best to recreate the feel of it. So far, so good.

"I want to live here," Micah said. She laughed and turned around. He was standing beside a massive leather couch, gaping at the incredible view.

Cobb was turning in a slow circle, taking in the architecture of the house. It was built like a normal house, except for the various tricks and traps around it. There were banisters all over the room, and mirrors placed strategically across the high ceiling.

Browning ran a hand over his face, looking slightly dazed. "Where are we?"

"Robert Fischer's childhood home," Ariadne said. Browning gaped at her.

Arthur appeared like a ghost from behind her, lightly touching her back to signal his presence. "Tell me about it."

She nodded. "There are a few secret staircases. There, there, and there," she said, pointing to different parts of the room. She led Arthur to what looked like a bare wall and ran her fingers over it. Parts of the wall caved, revealing a ladder of sorts. She pointed up to the ceiling rafters. "If the projections overwhelm you, you can climb up there. It'll slow you down and give you a good vantage point to see the mirrors, which will tell you what's going on."

"How do I hide in the rafters?"

"They open," she said. "They're like boxes. You can fit in them, or trap a projection in them. Just don't get stuck yourself."

Arthur smirked. "I'll do my best."

She ran her hand over the leather couch near her. "These are lighter than they look," she said. Arthur tested that, looking surprised at how easy it was to pick the end of one up. "So you can move them to blockade a door if you need to. Speaking of doors…" She reached over to what looked like a closet and pulled it open, revealing an endless pit. Arthur looked down it before stepping back a moment later.

"Watch your step," she said.

"No kidding," he agreed.

She nodded at the doors. "The ones painted tan aren't safe. The white ones are. Just remember that and you'll be okay."

"White, got it," he said.

"Upstairs then."

She walked to the circular staircase, made of thick iron and climbed the stairs fluidly, Arthur following her. They reached the second floor and she stopped him, stepping off.

"I expect we'll be in one of the bedrooms when we go under for the third level, is that right?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed.

"Do this one," she suggested, opening the door to what probably would've been the master bedroom of a normal house.

The room was large, clean and organized. Arthur stepped inside, studying the many windows and the small bedside tables, running his hand over everything he could touch. She followed him, still speaking.

"You've got a couple things to work with," she said, walking to what looked like a closet. She pulled it open, revealing it opened into an indoor balcony of sorts. Below them, Cobb and Micah were talking, while Eames had gone outside to inspect the backyard and magnificent view.

"So you can see them coming," she explained. "Or attack them from above. Or if, you know, all else fails, you can jump onto a couch from here."

"What, and leave the rest of you to die?" He shook his head. "Not likely. But thanks for the opportunity."

She nodded, not really expecting him to say anything else. He was the point man, after all.

"Just in case everything fails like it did last time," she said. "You have your improvised kick in the form of an airplane."

He stilled. "What did you just say?"

She smiled. "Come on." She hurried out of the room and across the hall, to a door painted completely black.

"Nothing in this house could really exist in the real world," she explained, her hand on the doorknob. "I took that idea and ran with it. You did tell me that you used to want to be a pilot when you were a kid."

Arthur stared at her, an awestruck grin about to spread over his face. "Shit, Ari, you didn't-"

She smiled and opened the door.

It led outside, to a hanging airplane platform. A small white plane sat, waiting on the platform. Arthur gave her a look that was a mix of joy and incredulity and walked to the plane, opening the door and looking in.

"It's roomy," he noticed.

"It had to be," she said. "You'll need to put us all in there. I think you could do it."

"It's no smaller than the elevator," he agreed. He looked at her. "Ari, this is great stuff. Kind of crazy, but very creative. I'm so impressed."

She shrugged modestly. "I just really don't want anyone to go to Limbo."

A shadow crossed over his face, but before she could analyze that, he was smiling again, closing the door of the airplane. He looked past it, to the near ocean and the expensive houses on either side of the house.

"So the ocean," he murmured to himself. "Or another house…"

She nodded, catching his train of thought. "Yes. I think either would work as a kick just fine."

"Definitely," Arthur agreed. He gave the plane a longing look before turning his back on it, and walking back to the house. He held the door open for Ariadne, who hurried in.

She gave him more details of the second floor, guessing he would be spending most of his time there. Arthur nodded at everything she said, and she could see him mentally taking notes as she spoke. She waved her hands as she described the functions of every piece of furniture and piece of exotic architecture, and he was smiling as she spoke, and for a moment, it was like they were together again and this was one of her odder forays into dream design—

But then Cobb yelled their names. "Arthur? Ariadne?"

They snapped out of it, and Arthur followed her back down the spiral staircase to the first floor. Everyone was gathered in the living room. Micah looked comfortable, resting his feet on the table. Browning was the least comfortable, standing with his hands in his pockets and looking around the house.

"How's the upstairs?" Cobb asked Arthur.

Arthur grinned. "It's really, truly, unbelievable. Ariadne's outdone herself this time. The projections have no chance." She blushed at his praise, sitting next to Micah on the couch.

Cobb was pleased. He nodded at Ariadne. "Thank you."

"Thank me after the job," she suggested.

"You said you were still working on the other levels?"

She nodded. "Yeah. The first will be done by Monday at the latest. It's an office building, so it's probably the least advanced one. Fischer won't be looking too closely at anything."

Cobb spoke up. "How is Yusuf not fighting off projections?"

She frowned. "I think he'll have to drive again. Is that okay?"

"As long as Arthur teaches him a few things before," Cobb said, looking at Arthur. Arthur nodded in agreement.

"Sure. I'll talk to him about it."

"What about the third?" Cobb asked.

She took a deep breath. "That's the one I'm having the most trouble with. I have an idea that I wanted to suggest and get some feedback on."

Cobb looked puzzled, but nodded for her to continue.

"I want to make the third level Maurice Fischer's funeral service."

There was a long silence, during which Ariadne felt five pairs of eyes on her as all the men in the room stared at her. She blushed, playing with the end of the sweater she was wearing, feeling deeply self-conscious.

"Interesting," Arthur said at last. "Why?"

"Because Fischer needs to talk to his father," Ariadne said. "And realize that he's made a mistake."

Eames looked doubtful. "He'll know he's dreaming if he's…" He trailed off, realization setting in.

Ariadne nodded. "Exactly. He'll know he's dreaming no matter what, because Maurice will be talking to him. My thought was that anyone Eames might also forge would've been at the funeral service. Friends, family, everyone. Maurice can also talk about what he thinks everyone in Fischer's life has thought about the dissolution of the company. It'll be very emotional for Fischer."

Cobb slowly nodded. "I like it. I think that's just what we need."

"When do we tell him he's dreaming?" Micah asked.

"You should wait until the third level," Arthur said. "He needs to think he's really in his childhood home at this level, so when he sees Maurice interacting with his family, he'll think he's just reliving a forgotten memory."

Cobb agreed. "You're right." He scanned the room. "Ariadne, what are you doing to make Fischer think this is his childhood home?"

"It's virtually the same, except for all the rafters and mirrors," she said. Arthur shot her a look, mouthing the words 'and the airplane' but she ignored that. "Browning also gave me some photos of Fischer as a child. There are mementos in the photos that I've copied, and I hung up some of the photos…" She trailed off as Cobb began to notice what she was talking about. Half a dozen photos were hung decoratively on the far wall, showing a young Fischer playing baseball, going to his first day of school, celebrating his eleventh birthday.

Browning spoke up. "This is good. I remember the house you're describing. It was a bit more elegant, but the feel is the same."

"More elegant?" Ariadne asked. "Like the furniture?"

"That's right," Browning said. "Everything was top-of-the-line. You've made it very homey and easy to relax in, which may be how Robert sees the house. I remember it as impressive more than anything else."

Ariadne ran a hand through her hair, thinking hard. Those were two radically different points of view.

"I kind of need to know which is more likely," she said to Browning.

The man ran a hand over his face in thought, his graying brown hair awry here in the dream. "I suppose the way you have it now will be more familiar to Robert."

"I agree," Cobb added, coming over to join their conversation. The others had mostly broken up, and were studying the rest of the room. Ariadne noticed that Eames and Arthur were oddly close together, talking intently. She tore her eyes away from them as Cobb continued his explanation.

"We need Robert to think he's a child again," Cobb said. "So that when his father comes along, he can treat Robert like a little kid. It'll make Robert doubt his self-security enough to listen to the things Eames tells him in the third level."

Browning opened his mouth as if to protest this, but closed it quickly. Wise, Ariadne thought. This whole thing was his plan.

"Can you run the plan by me again?" He asked instead.

"Certainly," Cobb replied. "We'll be waiting at the power plant for you to bring Robert. We'll act as the executives he believes he's there to sell to, and you'll start the meeting. We'll spike his drink with a heavy sedative, which will put him to sleep. Then we'll all hook up to the PASIV and be on our way."

Browning nodded. "Okay. Then what?"

"The first level, as Ariadne said, is an office building."

"It'll be modeled loosely after your downtown offices," Ariadne added. "Enough so to make Robert believe he's really at work and having a terrible day."

"The idea is that we'll be trying to shake up Robert's determination that he is doing the right thing," Cobb explained. "I'll be doing that by asking him for the combination to his father's safe, where I'll claim he has left a business plan to execute in the case of his death, a plan no one else knew about. Robert will panic, and begin to wonder if he did the right thing."

Browning frowned. "What were you saying about driving?"

"I'll tell Robert the safe in question is hidden at another part of town," Cobb continued. "We'll all get in the car to go, and during the ride, we'll go down to this level of the dream."

"Hold on," Browning said, literally lifting a hand. "Are you going to give him another drink in the car?"

Cobb hesitated. "No." Browning stared at him and Cobb sighed deeply.

"We'll have to knock him out in the car."

"Will it hurt him?" Browning demanded.

Cobb shook his head. "No. We're very professional."

Ariadne glanced across the room again, to where Eames and Arthur had broken apart. Eames was standing by the window, while Arthur seemed to be explaining an aspect of the level to Micah, who stood with him.

"So when we get to the second level," Cobb explained. "We'll build up some trust here, make him think we're really on his side. I'll offer some commentary as he sees his projections of his family, twisting my words to make him think what we need him to: that the break up of the empire is not what Maurice would have wanted."

"I see," Browning said.

"Arthur will remain behind on this level," Cobb continued. Ariadne's eyes flickered to Arthur, and she remembered one part of this level that she'd forgotten to tell him about. "While the rest of us go on to the final level: Maurice's funeral service."

"It'll be outdoors," Ariadne said. "At the MacArthur Park, where it was last time. It'll be exactly the same, as far as the decorations and people are concerned. Fischer will know he's awake, so he'll think it's just another memory."

Cobb nodded in approval. "Eames will make his grand appearance as Maurice. In the inception job last year, we used you as I already told you, Mr. Browning." Browning nodded tensely, and Ariadne knew he was still a little miffed about that detail. "Where Eames forged your character, creating an idea that was eventually repeated by Robert's projection of you. It made the idea self-generated. This time, we're not going to do that."

"And why is that?" Browning asked skeptically.

"Because Robert must believe it is his father's," Cobb said stiffly. "He must believe that the latent memory of his father is manifesting an idea that his real father would've suggested himself. By the time the dreams are over, he'll believe he knows his father better than ever, and that he knows now exactly what his father wants."

Browning looked pleasantly surprised. "That's good." Ariadne was pleased with this, until Browning continued. "I want to leave him with a nice thought."

"What, because then it makes this all okay?" She asked before she could stop herself. Beside her, Cobb stiffened. Browning fixed her with a hard gaze.

"Careful, Ms. Chopin," he said quietly. "Don't act like I don't know everything about you." His eyes flashed almost imperceptibly. "He may be a good enough actor to fool me, but you are not. Don't give Mr. Zaleski away now."

She stared in horror and realization. Browning had somehow figured out her connection to Arthur. She knew she had to end that right away.

"Don't bother," she snapped. "There's nothing there anymore."

"I beg to differ," Browning said sharply. "From the way you look at him, I'd say there's still something there."

Ariadne had only a moment to gawk at Browning (_is he right, do I love Arthur still, can I?_) when a sudden movement and crash caught her attention. The three of them spun around to look at Eames.

The forger looked staggered, having jumped away from the window. His head swirled around as he turned, his eyes settling on Ariadne. He looked almost dismayed.

"Oh, hell," he muttered.

"What is it?" Cobb asked, walking swiftly to Eames' side. Browning and Ariadne followed. Ariadne darted directly to Eames, taking his arm in hers and staring up at his face.

He looked severely angry as he spun around, his eyes finally settling on Micah and Arthur, who were watching him with interest.

Eames was glaring at Arthur like no one else. "I thought you were going to fix this!" He yelled.

"Fix what?" Browning asked in confusion. A heavy weight settled in Ariadne's chest as she realized what Eames must have been talking about. She turned to the window as she heard Arthur walk over, Micah trailing him.

Sure enough, an exact copy of herself was sitting in the yard outside, overlooking the cliff and the ocean. This version of herself was dressed very casually in the warm air, wearing a blood red skirt and black tank top. She was resting with her arms around her knees, her bare feet tapping the grass. Her hair was tied back, loose tendrils floating in the breeze.

She heard Browning splutter. "What is this?"

"I'll take care of it," Arthur murmured. He stalked past them all, going to the sliding glass door on the back of the house. He put his hand on the handle, only for Eames' to land on his shoulder.

"You sure?" He asked.

Arthur fixed him with an emotionless gaze. "Yes, I am." He shook Eames' hand off, sliding open the door. Eames made to follow, only for Micah to latch onto his arm.

"Don't," Micah said. "He can do it."

Eames stared at the student in bewilderment. "What makes you say that?"

Micah swallowed. "Because I've seen him kill her before."

You could've heard a pin drop at the sudden silence. Ariadne felt like all the air had abandoned her lungs as she stared at Micah, as the pieces fell into place.

Arthur's house… His dream house, the place he visited when he needed comfort and peace. Did he dream of it because he knew he would find her there? She knew Micah had also seen the house—he'd known about the flowers—and had assumed that fact was enough for Arthur to go crazy and half-drown him. But could it have been more? Had Micah seen more than that?

Micah had watch Arthur kill her?

She snapped out of her thoughts as Arthur approached the projection of herself. Even with the sun shining brightly overhead, his face was in shadow, his profile the only distinct view of him. He seemed to be speaking to her, as she watched the projection of herself stand in front of him, her skirt fluttering in the breeze.

"This is ridiculous," Eames muttered. No one paid him any attention; all eyes were locked on Arthur and Projection-Ariadne in the yard.

Ariadne watched, stunned, as Arthur lifted his left hand, wrapping it to fit her cheek in his hand. She stared as the copy of herself smiled, leaning in to his touch, wrapping her hands around his arm. Her copy turned her head a little, and kissed the palm of his hand. Arthur's face remained the same, simply studying her projection's reactions.

The scene was so tranquil, so serene, that the moment Arthur pulled a gun from his jacket and held it to her head was already bright red by the time he pulled the trigger.

Ariadne stared as the copy of herself immediately fell. As if he couldn't help himself, Arthur caught her body, lowering her gently into the tall grass. He looked down at her for a moment, crouching next to her. She watched as he ran a hand over her face, murmuring words to her. She knew the projection was dead; had been, since the bullet exploded through her brain.

Arthur stood and turned back to the house, stowing the gun back into his jacket. He ignored the faces hovering by the windows and returned to the glass door. He slid it open and stepped inside, closing it with a loud click.

He faced them, hands in his pockets. "Satisfied, Eames?"

Eames' face was priceless in its surprise. "Yes, I… I am."

"That was fast," Micah muttered. He flushed when he saw the others look at him. Ariadne privately agreed: that had been alarmingly fast, especially since it looked like the projection of herself hadn't done or said anything to merit such a brutal death.

"I'm glad to see you've gotten a hold of that," Cobb told Arthur, touching the point man's shoulder.

Browning, on the other hand, looked shaken. His head jerked from Arthur to Ariadne and back.

"What was that all about?" He demanded.

"I've had a slight problem with projections of Ariadne," Arthur said quietly. "They try to kill me, and they succeed unless I manage to kill them first."

"Why?" Browning turned to Cobb as if for confirmation. "Is this normal? Will Eleanor try to kill me?"

"Not unless you're having relationship problems," Eames said heavily. "Including, but not limited to, a certain degree of hatred for the other. Hatred is what brings out the deadly side of projections. Hatred for someone invading the mind, to be specific."

_I've never thought of it like that_, Ariadne realized. Arthur felt like she was invading his mind. She looked at him, but he never looked at her. He kept his gaze on Cobb, Eames and Browning.

"The rest of the projections won't differentiate," Cobb said quickly. "You're not connected to them like you are to your wife. They'll all try to kill us equally. Arthur is the only one who has to keep an eye out for something different, but I think he'll be able to handle it." Arthur nodded.

Browning wasn't convinced. "What exactly are these projections like?"

As Eames began to explain, Ariadne grabbed Arthur's sleeve. She raised her voice so that Cobb and Micah, who were nearest, would hear. "I forgot to show you something about the level. Come here."

She pulled Arthur away, back to the staircase. She hurried up the stairs, assured Arthur was following by the gentle tap of his shoes. At the second floor, she stepped off and he followed her. She stopped him from continuing down the hall by grabbing on to his shirt again.

"Look," she said. She pointed up. "Recognize this?" She asked, gesturing to the stairs that continued on above their heads.

"I didn't think there was a third floor," Arthur said in confusion. He studied the stairs before a smile split his face. "Oh. Penrose. Paradox."

She nodded. "Since it worked really well last time, I thought you could use another set."

He laughed. "Yes, you're right. Thank you, Ariadne."

"You're welcome, Arthur," she said.

They looked at each other, aware that they were virtually alone, once again, now that they were on the second floor of the house. It was the closest they'd come to being alone together in days.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Arthur said at last.

She blinked. "It's okay. I'm proud of you."

He stared at her, bemused. "Proud of what? The fact that I can easily kill you without hesitation?"

"No," she said softly. "Proud of the fact that you did work things out on your own."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Ariadne could recognize deep regret and sorrow in his eyes, and she wondered if hers looked the same. She struggled to come up with something to say, something witty and casual, but nothing came to mind. Thankfully, the familiar bars of an Edith Piaf song could be heard instead.

"It's time to go," she realized, looking upwards, as if to watch the dream collapse around them. A hand on her face gave her pause, and she lowered her head to meet Arthur's gaze.

"Quick," he whispered. "Give me a kiss."

She didn't even think twice. One moment he was speaking, the next, she was kissing him, her arms wrapped around his neck, one of his on her face and the other around her waist, holding her tightly to him. She kissed him desperately, like he was a drug she'd gone too long without, but one she knew could disappear again at any second. He seemed to be thinking something similar, because his breathing was becoming faster as he continued to press her against him, still kissing her like it was the end of the world—

Ariadne's eyes flew open and she stared at the ceiling over her head. She was still breathing hard, like she'd just stopped kissing Arthur. She turned her head, looking past Eames and spotted Arthur sitting up in his chair. His eyes found her, and they were wide. She noticed he was breathing just as hard as she was.

She sat up as well and pulled the needle from her wrist. Her heart was beating furiously, a crushing tempo against her chest. She continued to stare at Arthur, and all she could think was _I want you_.

The way he was biting his lip told her he was thinking the exact same thing, and the thought thrilled her.

"I have to be going," Browning said, his voice an unfriendly interruption (but probably a needed one, considering all she wanted to do was tackle Arthur to the floor, something that was not appropriate in front of their company) into her thoughts. She forced her eyes away from Arthur as Browning got to his feet, straightening his jacket and tie.

"Are you coming with me, then?" Browning asked Eames.

Ariadne had been completely unaware that Eames had immediately turned to her upon waking, planning to check on her as he usually did. She looked at him now, and saw his calculating expression. From the way his eyes flickered from her to Arthur, she knew he'd caught on to the tension between them.

"Yes," he said, speaking to Browning but looking at her.

She stood with him, her hands playing with the ends of her sweater. Her skin was covered in goose bumps that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, and all to do with the way she knew Arthur's eyes were following her movements. She walked to her desk without saying goodbye to Eames, who left with Browning.

"Yusuf, did you want to come with me to pick up that somnacin?" Cobb said, pulling on his jacket and looking at his watch. "I'm meeting the guy in Santa Barbara. You should probably be there to make sure it's okay."

Yusuf nodded, reaching for his bag. "Yes, you're right. How did the dream go?"

He was speaking to Ariadne, who swallowed and prayed her voice sounded okay. "Really well. Even Browning approved."

"It was amazing," Arthur said, and she wasn't sure he was talking about the dream specifically.

Cobb turned to speak to Arthur. "We'll be back in an hour or so. Maybe you can work with Micah some more in the meantime?" He looked at Ariadne. "And maybe you can continue to work on the other levels."

"You're awfully passive aggressive," Micah muttered, returning from the bathroom.

Ariadne glanced at Arthur, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were on Micah, and he seemed to be deep in thought. Planning what he's going to work on with him next, Ariadne realized with serious disappointment. The kiss must not have resonated with him like it had with her.

Cobb and Yusuf uttered their farewells (coupled with more instruction from Cobb) and then they were gone, the warehouse door slamming shut behind them. Ariadne turned to her desk and sat down at it, pulling off her sweater and opening a drawer and beginning to search for her good pencils to continue her drawing of the office building.

"Micah," Arthur called in a mild tone. Ariadne didn't glance up until she heard the sound of something being tossed through the air. She lifted her head and watched as Micah caught the set of car keys thrown to him by Arthur.

"I need you to pick up bullets," Arthur said. ".64 caliber, please. There's a place fifteen minutes from here that has them for cheap and won't bother you with any questions. We need to get you started on training in the real world."

Micah looked nervous about going into a gun shop alone. "You're not coming with me?"

"I've got something I need to do first," Arthur said softly. He was speaking to Micah directly, without any indication that Ariadne was in the room, his hands twirling his jacket between them as he spoke. Ariadne raised the pencil, thinking and waiting…

"Okay," Micah said. "And you're really okay with me driving your Mercedes?"

"I'm really okay with you driving the Mercedes."

Micah looked rather giddy. "Alright then. I'll be back later." He darted over to his jacket, picking it up and raising a hand in farewell as he all but ran out the front door of the warehouse. Arthur and Ariadne remained still until the purr of the engine disappeared down the road.

"Micah's a little predictable," Arthur murmured. He began to make his way towards her, still clutching his jacket in his hands.

"It's a nice car," Ariadne said in response. She gripped the armrests of her chair, keeping her eyes locked on Arthur. He stopped directly in front of her, gazing down at her with his head tilted, as if she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

She couldn't bear not knowing what he was thinking about. "What do you need to do while Micah's getting bullets?"

"Set up a shooting range behind the warehouse," Arthur murmured, and her heart dropped at the letdown. But he suddenly grinned, looking rather mischievous. He leaned down, resting his hands just behind hers on the arms of the chair. "But I was thinking I needed to do you, first."

She would've laughed if she hadn't been hoping desperately that he would say that. He was kissing her then, his face pressed against hers, still leaning over her chair. She raised her hands from the chair to hold his face and kissed him back, just as strongly. Her eyes were closed and she was quite surprised when the chair seemed to fall away from her.

She squeaked into Arthur's mouth, loudly and with surprise. He laughed, his chuckles falling across her face like a warm summer breeze. She realized he'd scooped her up, holding her tightly against him, her feet hovering over the floor. She didn't get long to appreciate this new level, because Arthur set her down on her desk, which was thankfully empty as she hadn't gotten around to pulling out the models yet.

It seemed like he was everywhere. His mouth moved across her face, kissing over her cheeks, her nose, even her eyelids, his lips like a butterfly's wings. She clutched his shoulders, trying to bring him closer, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the moment.

The way her body responded to his was amazing, she knew, and something to not take lightly. They'd been together for a year, which wasn't exactly the longest relationship in the world but was plenty long for both of them; neither had had a longer relationship before it. Yet she still wanted him like the first time, like he was still new and his body still a mystery she hadn't figured out yet.

She heard the sound of the zipper on the side of her dress move, and felt Arthur's hand ghosting down the side of her body with it. His other hand was under her dress, curled around her thigh as he laid her down on her desk, standing between her legs. She moved her hands to his tie and wasted no time in loosening it, letting it slide off his neck and to the floor. Her hands flew to the buttons of his shirt.

He'd been kissing her deeply, his tongue entangled with hers, but he raised his head as she undid the buttons of his shirt.

"I missed you," he whispered over her skin. He pulled back a little, running his mouth down her neck and over her collarbone, kissing lower and lower. Done with his shirt, she moved her hands to the hair on top of his head, running her fingers through it.

"We never did have the break up sex," she murmured, gasping at the way his lips felt on her skin.

He laughed, raising his head to look at her. Their eyes met, and the warmth and adoration in his was so familiar, she wanted to cry. What had happened to them?

"Come back here," she croaked instead, not wanting to bring that up again. Arthur smiled, placing a final kiss on her bare chest (her dress hanging somewhere around her waist) and moved back over her. His shirt hung off his shoulders, but he didn't seem to mind.

"As you wish," he said softly. She quickly pushed his shirt off him. And then he kissed her again, so deeply and passionately, she felt lost.

She ran her hands over his skin, feeling the muscles of his back along with the scars. It all felt like a personal road map for her, a map to the home she'd forgotten. She never wanted to lose these feelings, the urgent desire she had for him.

Stay, she thought, making it a mantra in her mind. Stay, stay, stay…

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until Arthur pulled his mouth from hers, putting space between their faces. His arms were curled under her, his hand cradling the back of her head. The rest of their bodies were touching, perfectly lined up; her legs had wrapped around his waist.

"What did you say?" He asked softly.

She swallowed, feeling tears coming. "Stay."

"But I didn't go anywhere," he murmured, placing his hand on her face, his thumb stroking her chin, his pinky lost in her hair. "I'm always with you." He kissed her again, but this kiss was slower, like the beginning of a forest fire.

She was bewildered by his words. He'd left her, he'd broken her heart, too. His actions the last few days were that of a completely different man, not the one she knew and wanted to spend her life with. She was filled with doubts over his love for her, convinced the darkness had swallowed him up, taken him from her permanently. Wasn't that why they were over? He hadn't contested her use of the term break up.

He stilled suddenly and lifted his head again. His lips were slightly swollen, his hair askew. His eyes looked hard and sad.

"You're not sure you want to do this," he stated.

She stared. That hadn't been what she'd been thinking at all. She'd been wondering if maybe part of him still loved her, if there was a spark of their relationship still alive. She wondered how best to format this, but Arthur spoke again.

"Is this because of Eames?" He asked her, his voice husky and somber.

"What?" She asked, stunned. What about Eames?

Arthur looked at her. She was acutely aware of how very close he was, of how his shirt was on the floor, of how very little her dress still covered. He turned his head to the side, not meeting her eyes, but his expression didn't change.

"Micah told me," he said. "And…" He turned back to her, looking straight at her again. "Look, Ari, if he makes you happy, I think you should try to be with him. He's a strong man," He smiled sadly and kissed her jaw. "But I'm not going to think anyone is good enough for you."

"Wait," she said. She moved her hands from his back to his chest, shoving him back. He straightened more, pulling his arms out from under her so her back was against the hard wood of her desk. He kept his palms flat on either side of her, eyebrows raised.

"Edward? You think I like _Edward Eames_?"

"Yes," Arthur said without hesitation. "I've seen how you two act around the other. Maybe you don't know it yet, but you're going to like him, that way, soon. I know he already has feelings for you. He's starting to look at you like he could love you."

Ariadne's head spun. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately." He blinked. "But like I said, if he makes you happy-"

"God, do you really think I've moved on that fast?" She sat up abruptly, forcing Arthur to take a step back, her dress falling back over her bare legs. Her half-nakedness seemed too much now, and she yanked the top of her dress back into place. She felt furious, hurt, that Arthur had thought she was already ready to love someone else.

"Do you not realize what you've meant to me?" She demanded furiously. She could feel her stitches, but they were on the other side of her dress and didn't hurt as she zipped her dress back up. "Do you not realize how much I've loved you?"

_How much I still do_, she thought to herself.

Arthur stared at her, his own hurt and anger manifesting on his face.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know, Ariadne. I have no idea what you think about me now. God, sometimes I don't even know what you _used_ to think about me. All I know is you're staying in _his_ room, you're letting _him_ put his arms around you, and you're holding _his_ goddamn hand. What else would it look like to me?"

She was rendered speechless by this, seeing her and Eames through Arthur's eyes. _My God, he's right_, she realized. He had every right to think they were a couple now, to think she was falling for Eames, when she was in fact still in love with Arthur.

"You broke my heart," she whispered.

"Yeah, well you broke mine," he snapped. "And you're doing an excellent job at ruining me even more. _What do you want from me?_"

She swallowed "I just meant…Eames makes me feel better, he's being really nice to me, he always has-"

"And he's being even nicer now," Arthur said, practically seething. "Wake up, Ariadne. He wants you, and he's trying very hard to get you. I don't care if you let him, just sort out your feelings before you get mad at me. It's your choice: destroy me or let me go." He'd picked up his shirt and turned to walk away, but paused just a few yards from her desk. He turned around suddenly and walked back to her. She leaned against her desk again, nervous at his intent expression.

But he only returned to kiss her, his hands cradling her face. She kissed him back, surprised at how unbearably sweet the kiss felt. His lips were gentle as they caressed hers, warm and no longer scalding.

He released her, only to place a single kiss on her forehead.

"We're not having the break up sex," he murmured. "But maybe this can be good enough to be your last memory of me." He looked deep into her eyes, and she wanted to cry at the way his shined with emotion.

He lifted her hand, holding it in his. He delicately kissed the back of it.

"I'm sorry, Ariadne," he whispered against her skin. "Be happy, either with Eames or someone else entirely. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day."

She wanted to speak, to tell him she was sorry too, that she would always love him, that she would never forget him. But her throat was dry, like Arthur had stolen her voice in his last kiss.

He let go of her hand and she let it fall to her lap, feeling a huge weight settle over her. Arthur turned, pulling his shirt on, picking up his tie and walking away. She watched him leave her, until he'd vanished out the back door of the warehouse to the sunny beach beyond.

As soon as he'd gone, she started to cry silently.

**Review, please**


	27. Blue Valentines

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Reviewersreviewersreviewers are THE BEST; L: thanks for the compliment on the Ari/Arthur scenes! "Raw and intimate"... thanks! GarthFitzgerald: don't hurt yourself please. I LOL'D at the vodka comment. In. Blue. 85: Thanks for so loyally reviewing! I'll keep 'em coming for ya friend. Knuckiducki: 100th REVIEW! I LOVE that you went and re-read and listened to all the songs! I was hoping someone would. I'm gonna check out that song pronto. Iole17: Happy ending? We shall see...**

**LONGEST CHAPTER OF THE STORY! I just couldn't find a good place to break it up... Clocking in at 9,681 words, as of now.**

**Chapter title from the song by Tom Waits... Gorgeous. "_She sends me blue valentines, to remind me of my cardinal sin..." _**

Blue Valentines

Sunday, October 16, 2011: Oceanside, California: Alice Beckett's House: Arthur**  
**

Arthur could still feel Ariadne's lips on his skin, even with his window rolled down and the salty sea wind filling up the interior of his Mercedes.

It was like she was still with him. He could imagine her sitting in the passenger seat beside him, looking out the window, her hair flying out behind her as he pushed the car past eighty miles an hour. He imagined her turning her head to smile at him; he pretended she was reaching over to take his hand, which rested as it usually did on the gear shift.

He had to check: no, she wasn't there.

He'd turned the radio on to some classic rock station, letting the smooth guitars and smashing drums serenade his senses. He was searching for relief, for something to take his mind away from his thoughts of Ariadne, which had been virtually all he could think about since he'd all but ran from the warehouse yesterday, his lips swollen and his heart smashed into pieces.

_I knew she didn't love me anymore._

He'd guessed she hadn't realized what Eames had been doing yet, but he'd been completely unprepared for her anger. He didn't think she was a slut or anything; he just thought she was lonely, and that Eames would provide her with the warmth and love she'd been lacking from Arthur. Her face when she'd realized what Arthur was telling her had been too much for him, and he'd known he needed to get out of there before he broke down and begged her to take him back.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't see her face when she told him there was no hope for them, that their relationship was now a relic of their pasts. Even though he'd always believed this relationship was the only one that would matter, that Ariadne was the woman he was supposed to be with for the rest of his life.

_Now what?_

He couldn't begin to think about how he was supposed to move on from her, to let her go. So he chose not to.

Arthur had walked on the beach for over four hours, wandering through the sand, getting strange looks from passersby. He'd pulled his shirt back on but had left it unbuttoned, and carried his shoes in his hand, his feet bare on the sand as he walked close to the ocean, letting the chilly water swirl around his ankles. He'd been a strange sight—probably like a desperate man who'd just lost his job and didn't know what to do now—but he really hadn't cared.

When times got rough, Arthur ran away. He'd been doing it his whole life. When his father breathed his last breath, Arthur had torn out of the apartment, running through the streets of Moscow in terror, only coming home when he could breathe again. When he'd returned from those six months of hell, he'd run away from his anxious and protective mother and brother, never speaking to them again. When the jobs failed, he ran to the other side of the world to save himself, taking a fake name and creating a new identity. He ran over and over again, never leaving footsteps, never letting himself be found.

So when he realized Ariadne didn't love him and that his life with her really was over, he'd run away. But he'd returned to the warehouse, because he had responsibilities and things he needed to do.

He'd avoided Ariadne, relieved when Cobb told him she'd taken Cobb's car, muttering something about needing to buy more cardboard; Eames had tried to go with her, but she'd waved him away. That'd been over four hours ago, and she wasn't back yet.

"She didn't look good," Cobb had muttered. "And honestly, neither do you. What happened?"

Both Cobb and Micah had noticed how despondent and lifeless Arthur looked. He'd shrugged off their concerns and told Micah that they needed to start shooting. That had proved to be good for Arthur, who blew off some steam and stress by shooting ten rounds straight into the wood he'd told Micah to use as a dummy. Micah had watched him in silence, clearly apprehensive.

He'd stopped Arthur at some point with a hand on his arm. "Arthur, are you okay?"

Arthur had nodded. "I'm fine. It's your turn."

A ringing noise in his car snapped Arthur out of his thoughts. He reached down and picked up his cell phone from the console of the Mercedes, looking down his sunglasses to scan the number. Cobb.

"Yes?" He said, picking up.

"Where the hell are you?"

Arthur glanced at the dashboard. It was almost noon. "I have something I need to do."

Cobb's breath came out in an agitated huff. "What?"

Arthur sighed and uttered the sentence that would get Cobb off his back: "Cobb, I'm about ten minutes outside of Oceanside."

Cobb fell silent, just as Arthur had hoped.

"Why are you in Oceanside?" Cobb asked at last.

"I'm thinking about visiting someone."

"Who?"

He rolled his eyes. "The one person who lives here that I actually care about."

Cobb was quiet again, and Arthur imagined the mixed astonishment and concern that was probably on the extractor's face. Arthur glanced at the speedometer and slowed down a little as he neared the city entrance.

"I could've gone with you," Cobb said at last.

Arthur blinked, surprised. "Um… No, thanks. I need to do this alone."

"Of course," Cobb said quickly. "I just wanted you to know that I would've, if you'd asked and wanted me to."

"I know," Arthur agreed. "I appreciate the offer, Cobb."

"I'll tell the others to leave you in peace then."

"Why?" Arthur asked sharply. "Who needs me?"

"Micah was just wondering where you were."

_Micah_. Arthur shook his head, slightly amused. For some reason, Micah had begun to form quite the attachment to him. It was almost like he cared for Arthur, which was mind-blowing, considering all that had happened.

"If he asks again, tell him I'll be back later tonight," Arthur said.

"Okay," Cobb replied. "I think he likes you, Arthur. He definitely looks up to you."

_Strange_. "I know," Arthur said quietly. Ahead of him, the familiar 'Welcome to Oceanside' sign loomed ahead. "I'll talk to you later, Cobb."

"Sure. Good luck."

"Thanks," Arthur said wryly. He hung up, setting the phone back in the console and rested his hand on the gear shift again. He slowed down, exiting the highway and driving into the city.

Oceanside looked just as Arthur remembered, even though he hadn't been there in nearly twelve years. The downtown was bigger, with taller buildings and more shops, including at least ten new tourist traps. He drove through the downtown, driving alongside the port, with the boardwalks extending into the ocean, surrounded on all sides by tall and luxurious sail boats. People milled about on the beach, enjoying the last of the sunshine; Arthur had heard on the news that morning that clouds were rolling into Southern California, which spelled despair for the citizens.

He turned away from the commercial area of the city, driving into the residential. Though the beachfront houses were large and expensive, there were plenty of houses more inland that were smaller and plenty cheaper. Arthur studied the street signs as he passed, recognizing homes and buildings he hadn't seen in years.

_He was eighteen, walking down the street, his shoes slapping the pavement… Adam was next to him, chattering on about how great Stanford was, asking when Arthur was going back to Harvard—_

Arthur slowed to a stop, parking in front of his childhood home.

It was painted a light blue, faded in spots where the sun had hit the paint just right. The frame was white, with shutters on either side of the large front window, which was currently open, revealing a shadowed living room Arthur couldn't see inside of. The front door was white as well, hidden behind the screen door. The porch was mostly empty, white wood, except for a small wicker chair on it and a watering can. The walk was clean and the bushes and flowers beside it were tidy.

He looked at the house, the car silent around him. He couldn't believe that he'd actually come here, and was starting to doubt his decision. But he'd woken up that morning and his first thought had been: _It's time to go home._

So he'd gotten into his car and started the several-hours long drive to Oceanside, the town he'd grown up in, just North of San Diego.  
He could still turn back, restart the car and drive away. She would never know he'd been here.

But something told Arthur that if he left now, he would regret it. Sighing deeply, he opened the door and climbed out.

He made his way around the car, opening the small wooden gate with ease, glancing at the peeling blue paint of the mailbox. He'd dressed more casually than usual for today, wearing jeans and a blood red dress shirt and black skinny tie. He'd even been lazier with his hair, letting it be freer than it had in a while. He walked with his hands at his sides, curling and uncurling in anxiety.

Arthur climbed up the porch and raised his hand. He hesitated only briefly over the doorbell before he forced his hand forward, his index finger pressing the button. He closed his eyes, counting to himself. Maybe she wasn't even home…

But the slide of the lock and the click of the door handle made him open his eyes.

She was standing on the other side of the screen door, staring at him. She'd aged, he realized, and she looked older than even the most recent pictures he'd found of her. Her hair was a mix of dark brown and white, held back with an ornate butterfly clip. She was wearing a white blouse and light blue pants, her feet bare and aged, though her toenails tried to negate this, being an electric red like the color of his shirt. A thin pair of glasses rested on her nose, failing to contain the emerald green eyes looking out of them.

"Adam!" Eva said in surprise, opening the door. "I wasn't expecting you until a little later."

Arthur's mouth opened a little bit in surprise, but recovered quickly. She wasn't really expecting her other son, the dead one, the one she hadn't seen in almost a dozen years, was she?

"Hi, mom," he croaked.

She looked confused. "What's wrong, Adam?" She looked past him, to his car, her eyes glossing over it as if expecting someone else. "Where are Lily and the kids?"

Ah. "They had to stay in L.A. Tom has a soccer game."

"You should've told me!" Eva said disapprovingly. "I would've gotten up earlier if you'd wanted to pick me up for that. You should've called at the very least. I made lunch for all five of us."

Lunch. They were going to have Sunday lunch together. Arthur wondered if this was a weekly thing.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. _I'm so sorry._

"Oh well," she said. She looked at him warmly; he was forgiven. "It'll be just me and my boy then. That's just fine." She smiled suddenly, looking him up and down. "Boy isn't the right word. You look so grown-up, dressed so nicely like that. What's the occasion?" She shook her head, not bothering to wait for an answer. "Oh, who am I kidding? You're always going to be my little boy, Adam."

He wasn't sure why he didn't tell her that it was he, Arthur, and not Adam. Something made him hold back as he followed her into the house. He turned, taking in everything he saw.

It was mostly the same, he noticed with a smile. The house was all one floor, meaning it opened up pretty quickly. Arthur followed his mother through the living room (tan shag carpet, the house was built in the seventies) and into the kitchen. The kitchen floors were cheap linoleum, the countertops made of a similar material, not the marble and quartz Arthur was used to seeing in kitchens. He moved to help his mother with the food but she waved him away to the table.

"No, no, take a seat, Adam. Let your old mother feed you."

"You're not old," Arthur said reflexively. Eva laughed, shaking her head.

"Hush, now, dear. But thank you."

"You're welcome," Arthur said with a smile. He followed her directions, sitting down at the circular wooden table, which she'd set out for five people. He looked out the window into the backyard. Eva still used a clothesline to dry her clothes; several sweaters were swaying in the afternoon breeze. The yard was orderly, the grass (a little dry and brown) was cut and neat.

Eva approached the table, carrying a steaming platter of enchiladas.

"I made your favorite," she said softly. Arthur wondered for a moment if she'd realized it really was him, until he realized that Adam loved her enchiladas as well.

He smiled as she sat down next to him. "Thanks, mom."

They started to eat, but Arthur was moving slowly, barely paying attention to his favorite meal as a kid. He kept his eyes on his mother, staring at her, trying to accept the fact that she was so close. He hadn't seen her in eleven years, eleven years that had wrought major changes on him, physically and emotionally. He tried to remember what he would've looked like the last time he'd sat at the table as an eighteen year old. He couldn't remember, but he remembered exactly what his mother had looked like. Her hair had still looked like his, without all the gray, and she'd been bubblier.

This older version of Eva Beckett was sadder.

"How have you been, mom?" He asked.

"Oh, fine," Eva said, waving a hand to signal she had nothing very exciting to say. But to Arthur, she was full of exciting things to say.

He smiled warmly in encouragement. "Come on, mom. Try me."

She sighed. "There really hasn't been much of a change since you came by two weeks ago, Adam." _Try eleven years_. "I finally tackled the front yard, as I hope you noticed. Those hydrangeas were tearing the poor shrubs to pieces. But I fought them back."

Arthur laughed at the toughness in her tone. "I knew you could, mom."

"Yes, don't call the old folks' home just yet," she said, jokingly. "The car needs more repairs, but that's not too surprising. I was thinking about trading it in for a car with an actual roof though."

"What, get rid of the convertible?" He asked in horror. He pictured his mother's white Mustang convertible from the sixties, all big and bulky and completely fun. He'd learned to drive in the car, which had been difficult considering it was a stick shift. To Arthur, that car was one of his best and brightest memories of his childhood.

Eva gave him a look. "You hate that car."

That was right; Adam had hated driving the stick shift. He preferred to observe scenery as he drove, something that was impossible when driving a manual. Arthur blushed.

"You've just had it for so long," he said quickly.

"I know," she agreed. "I could do with a younger and newer model, couldn't I? But enough about me," she said impatiently, setting down her fork. "Tell me how your week was, Adam. I daresay it was more exciting, what with your work and your kids. How's Lily doing?"

"She's great," Arthur said. He really didn't know, he'd never met his brother's wife. "We went to a farmer's market on Tuesday."

"Oh, really?" Eva asked, interested. "How was that?"

"Fun," Arthur said. He could only assume. "Morgan gave us a bit of a scare; she got lost, looking for…sugar." He'd improvised wildly. Morgan was four years old though, didn't most little kids desire sugar and sweets all the time?

Eva laughed, a sound Arthur latched onto. He hadn't heard her laugh in so long… "Oh, that does sound like Morgan," she said, her voice affectionate for her old granddaughter. "I assume you found her okay."

"Yeah. A woman was kind enough to bring her back to us." Arthur kept his tone casual when he mentioned Ariadne.

"How about Tom?" Eva asked about her only grandson. "Did he enjoy the market? Lily talks about how absorbed he is in his books all the time."

_That sounds like me_, Arthur thought in surprise. He'd been the one researching and reading constantly as a child, while Adam was into sports and television. Arthur found he was pleased to know his nephew loved books as much as he did, and he wondered if Eva had given Tom his old books. He wondered what his old room, the room he'd shared with Adam, looked like, and if he could come up with a good explanation for why he wanted to see it.

_"Hey, mom? Can I check out my old room? Why? Oh, because I'm your dead son, and I haven't seen it in a while."_

That would go well.

"He did," Arthur said quickly, realizing a little late that he hadn't answered Eva's question. "Farmers' markets can be really fun."

"I agree," Eva said warmly. She leaned over and touched the back of his hand. "Do you remember how your father used to buy me flowers from the farmers' market that comes to town in the summer?"

He did; it was what inspired him to start that tradition with Ariadne. "I remember."

"He always had an eye for flowers," Eva said fondly.

Arthur was only half-listening. He'd glanced at the windowsill and noticed a single photograph in a black frame resting on the edge. A couple candles rested by it, and the size of their wicks told Arthur they'd been lit before, and probably frequently. He got up, setting his napkin down on the table as he approached the small photograph.

It was a photo of his father, taken in the eighties when he'd been alive. His jet black hair was combed and gelled back, identical to how Arthur usually wore his. He was wearing a dark three-piece suit; the whole look made Arthur realize just how much he (and Adam) looked like their father, now that they were adults. They must've been around the same height now. His eyes moved over his father's handsome face, looking at the young boy sitting on his lap. His brown hair was loose and light, his auburn eyes wide with laughter. He was wearing a blue t-shirt and baggy blue jeans, sneakers peeking out from the bottom of his pants. Arthur recognized him at once.

"What are you looking at, Adam?" Eva asked, confused. He turned so she could see the photo.

She nodded. "It's a great photo, isn't it? It's one of the only ones I have where it's just the two of them." She sighed deeply. "It's a little like a shrine, but I allow myself to have it, since there isn't much about Arthur and your father in the rest of the house. Your kids take center stage now." She giggled a little. "Why are you looking at it, Adam? You've walked past it a million times."

He shrugged. "The light just caught it, and I thought you changed the photo."

"No," she said. "I adore that picture. When was it taken? Must've been 19-"

"-86," Arthur said quietly. "Two years before dad died. We were five."

Eva nodded in agreement. "You're right. Gosh. Can you believe he's been gone for eleven years?"

It took Arthur a moment to realize she wasn't talking about his father, but about himself. He did the dates in his head and realized she was quite right.

"No, I can't," he said softly. "That's a long time."

"He's probably looking down at us," Eva said. "Rolling his eyes at how we're reminiscing. Arthur always hated how we discussed your father so much after he died. Well, I can't help it. I miss both of them."

Arthur swallowed and turned to face her, abandoning her shrine to the dead. He sat back down at the table and began to eat again, hoping she would recognize he didn't want to talk about his father and "Arthur" anymore.

"Are you still doing yoga, mom?" He asked.

She gave him a look. "Of course, Adam. Every Tuesday night at the Y downtown. But I was thinking-" She broke off at the sound of the doorbell. Arthur paused in his eating as she stood, setting down her napkin.

"Who could that be?" She asked. "I'll be right back, it's probably just the neighborhood kids, they come by for cookies…"

Arthur smiled to himself, continuing to eat as she left the kitchen. Eva was born to be a mother. Even though her sons had long left home, she hadn't let go of that instinct. Kids always loved her; she was so friendly and adoring…

He continued to eat, enjoying his mother's incredible cooking, until it hit him that she had been gone for a while. He frowned and got up, walking back through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Arthur slowed as he became aware of someone crying. He stilled for a moment, his mind racing. Had someone come to deliver Eva bad news?

"…Calm down, mom," a man was saying. Arthur froze when he recognized the voice. He could've hit himself for being such an idiot.

Eva had been expecting Adam and his family. She'd been surprised to see Arthur, commenting that he was early… It'd completely slipped his mind that Adam was still coming. He must've been the one at the door, and now Eva was crying because she couldn't understand who was the man in the kitchen, eating her food…

For a moment, Arthur was completely frozen, assessing his options. He could turn and bolt out the back door and hop the fence, something he'd done many times as a child. He knew that he could easily slip away, and Eva and Adam would never know what just happened.

But he'd already done the running away thing with them before. They deserved to know the truth now.

Especially if he planned to die in four days.

So Arthur gathered the courage he had, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the kitchen.

He recognized Lily first, standing by the front door. She had a stricken look on her face, her hands outstretched for Eva. Tom and Morgan stood beside her. Tom was clutching a heavy hardcover book, while Morgan was holding a stuffed rabbit.

"Daddy!" She cried, pointing at Arthur. "It's the man from the market!"

Adam was in front of Lily, his arms seemingly holding up Eva, who was sobbing like nobody's business into his t-shirt. He was looking at her, his face full of confusion and concern. When Arthur appeared in the doorway, all eyes turned to him, and Adam's face collapsed.

He staggered, grasping Lily's arm for support. "Holy fuck," he breathed.

Lily didn't even rebuke him for that language in front of their children. She gasped loudly, holding her hands to her mouth, her eyes glued to Arthur.

Eva heard their reactions and straightened, holding Adam's free hand. She turned and continued to cry when she saw Arthur.

"Who the fuck are you?" Adam demanded, hostile. Arthur swallowed and opened his mouth, but Eva spoke before he could.

"It's him," she cried. She launched herself forward, and Arthur caught her as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. She sobbed into his chest, hanging on to his shirt. "My baby, my baby… You're here…"

Arthur held her just as tightly, barely able to grasp the fact that he was hugging his mother. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her familiar vanilla-scented shampoo. Her embrace was so tight, he wasn't sure she would ever let him go.

He lifted his eyes, meeting his twin brother's. Adam looked floored.

"Hello, Adam," Arthur whispered. Adam was speechless, and could only gawk as Arthur and Eva finally broke apart.

Eva was still crying. She reached up, and held Arthur's face in her hands.

"Of course it's you," she murmured. "I know my sons. I knew."

"No, you didn't," Arthur disagreed. But he smiled, indicating he didn't care about that fact. "It's fine though. You haven't seen me in a while. Not to mention the fact you thought I was dead." He gently pulled himself away from Eva and took a step forward, holding his hand out to Adam.

"Long time, no see," he said.

Adam blinked furiously. Then he surprised Arthur by launching himself forward and crushing him in a blinding hug.

"Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, I can't believe it." He stepped back, slapping Arthur's back. Arthur was grinning, overwhelmed by the response. "How are you alive? You're supposed to be dead! We buried you!" He paused. "Is it really you?"

"It's really me, Arthur," Arthur confirmed. "You look so great, Adam."

"For a dead man, you look very healthy," Adam said without pause. Arthur laughed. "Jesus, I'm really tempted to punch you right now."

Arthur nodded. "I can take it."

A small hand appeared on Adam's arm, and the twins looked at it. It was Lily's hand, tapping Adam's arm to get his attention. She looked pointedly at Arthur.

"Oh, right," Adam said. "Arthur, this is my wife, Lily. Lily, this is my brother, Arthur." He stilled. "Shit, I never thought I would say that."

"I never thought I'd hear it," Lily breathed. She took Arthur's hand and looked up into his face. "Wow. You really are identical."

Arthur chuckled. "Yes. It's so nice to meet you, Lily."

"Likewise," Lily said warmly.

Arthur felt someone tugging at his jeans. He looked down and spotted Morgan, who was trying to get his attention. He knelt down next to her and looked up into her auburn eyes, identical to his, Adam's and their father's.

"You were at the market," Morgan said.

He nodded. "I was. I'm sorry I left so quickly. Ari told me you made it back to your parents okay though."

Morgan smiled. "The pretty lady! She told me you gave her flowers."

"I did," Arthur murmured, keeping his smile in place.

"Tom, Morgan," Adam said. "This is your uncle, Arthur."

Arthur held out his hand and Morgan took it, shaking it formally. He smiled and turned, offering his hand to Tom, who took it with more hesitation.

"Dad told me you were dead," Tom said in confusion.

Arthur nodded, grimacing. "He thought I was."

"But you aren't."

"No," Arthur confirmed, forcing himself to not add on to that sentence: _not yet_. He jerked his head at the book in Tom's hands. "What are you reading?"

Tom held up the cover. "'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.'"

"'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir,' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see,'" Arthur quoted quietly. "I love that book."

"Me too," Tom agreed.

"Kids," Lily said suddenly. "Why don't we go outside and play? Let's leave your father to talk to his brother, okay?"

They both nodded, allowing Lily to shepherd them back through the kitchen and outside. Arthur walked with Adam and Eva back to the kitchen table. He sat back down, Adam next to him, as Eva gathered more place settings and plates for the rest of her guests.

"How're the enchiladas?" Adam asked.

"Delicious, as always," Arthur replied. "I've always loved anything mom cooks though."

"You're sweet," Eva said. She set down the plates and began to dish up Adam's plate, giving him a big helping of enchilada. She settled down beside him and Arthur watched her pick up her fork and set it down in an uncertain rhythm. It was obvious she didn't know what to do or say.

Arthur took matters into his own hands. "How are you, Adam?"

"Me?" Adam rolled his eyes. "God, I don't even know. I was fine this morning. Wrangled both my kids into the car, running only fifteen minutes late and made the drive, only having to stop four times. But no one wants to hear about _me_."

"I do," Arthur disagreed.

Adam shook his head impatiently. "Yeah, well you're alone on that one. Let's talk about you, Arthur. Where the hell have you been? And who did we bury?"

Arthur sighed and nodded at Adam's plate. "Start eating, Adam. This is going to take a while." He waited until Adam had shoveled some enchilada into his mouth and leaned forward, crossing his hands together. "I don't think you buried anyone. The military gave you a nailed coffin, didn't they?"

"Yeah," Adam said.

"What did they tell you?"

"Nothing," Eva murmured. "They just said you'd been killed by a roadside bomb on your second tour. We didn't even know you'd been planning on going to a second tour. I was shocked you went right after graduation, too."

Arthur bowed his head. "Yeah, well, I didn't actually go on a second tour."

"I went to Harvard," Adam said suddenly. "After we hadn't heard a peep from you for weeks, when you didn't even call to tell mom when your graduation was. None of your professors knew where you went. Were they lying or did they really not know?"

"They didn't know," Arthur said.

"Okay…" Adam said slowly. "Where did you go, then?"

"Paris."

Eva and Adam exchanged a look.

"Paris?" Eva repeated. "What were you doing in Paris?"

"Remember how I studied abroad during my sophomore year at Harvard?" Arthur began. They nodded and he continued. "I met this woman at Paris Descartes—the university I was studying at—named Mallorie Miles. She introduced me to her boyfriend, a man named Dominic Cobb. At the time, Cobb was studying at the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts, a top architecture university in Europe. Cobb was unique though, because he was studying under a dream architect."

Adam stared. "A what?"

Arthur took a deep breath. "Do you both remember how Eliot got me into Harvard? Why?"

"For you to study shared dreaming for the military," Eva said.

"Right," Arthur confirmed. "And I did. I am one of very few people in the world who were specifically educated on shared dreaming. My program and training at Harvard is completely unique. But there are others who know about shared dreaming, most of them taught by mentors who were pioneers in the field. Cobb was one of them."

"So you went back to Paris to meet Cobb?" Adam summarized.

Arthur nodded. "Correct. Cobb had gotten in touch with me while I was…recovering. He told me he had a job lined up in February 2003, and he wanted to know if I was interested. I said yes, and flew to Paris right after I was given my degree that December."

He paused but continued. "In the world of shared dreaming, I'm a point man. What I do is plan the job, research the team members, the employer and the mark and work inside the dream to help the extractor do what we're being paid to. Dream extraction isn't legal everywhere; in the U.S., the penalty is at least ten years in prison. Overseas, the restrictions can be either less or greater. It isn't recognized as an actual thing in many. The vast majority of people on this planet are not even aware it's possible."

"You're a thief," Adam marveled.

"Basically," Arthur agreed. "That's what I've been doing for the last eleven years. I usually work with Cobb; he's become one of my closest friends, and he's one of only two people who know where I came from and what happened to me there. Right now, Cobb and I are working on a job in Los Angeles. I've only been to the U.S. a handful of times in the past eleven years. Most of those times, I was in San Francisco or New York. This job brought me closer to home than I've been in any of those times."

"Is that why you're here, now?" Eva asked softly.

Arthur frowned, knowing why he was really there but not sure how to explain it. He decided he didn't want to, not now that his mother thought he was back. "Yes. I wanted to see you. I'm… I'm sorry I didn't say who I was right away. I didn't know how to tell you."  
He stilled, gathering his words before continuing. "I'm sorry for all the pain I must've given you. I never really thought about how you would've reacted… But then I saw that photo." He nodded at the photo of him and his father; both Alice and Adam turned to look at it. "That's a great picture, mom."

"Were you going to see me?" Adam asked.

Arthur shrugged. "I hadn't really thought that far. I just woke up this morning and decided I wanted to go to Oceanside. Not much past that."

Eva was thinking of something else. "Your life… Arthur, it sounds so dangerous."

She had no idea, but she needed to. Arthur swallowed.

"That's why I never told you I was alive," he murmured quietly. He raised his head, looking at them, his family. "Like I said, dream extraction is illegal in many places. There are several warrants out for my arrest in some of these countries, including New Zealand, Thailand, Paraguay and Finland. But all I have to do to avoid those is stay away from those countries. What I really have to worry about are the corporations and businessmen who've hired me. If I fail a job, they reserve the right to punish me for that, because I had access to their most pertinent information. They stick their necks out when they hire me. Most extractors, when they fail, are worth $250,000 alive. Bounty hunters try to find them to collect the money." Adam and Eva looked horrified, but thankfully did not interrupt. "I'm not like most extractors. I'm respected as one of the best point men in the business, which means the prices on my head tend to be much higher. An example of this comes from Cobol Engineering. I'm their most wanted. They will pay 2.5 million for my dead body, 5 million for me alive."

"Jesus Christ," Adam breathed. "You must've really pissed them off."

"I failed a job, and then their mark hired me to do one for him," Arthur said. "Yeah, I did."

Adam ran a hand over his hair. "Please tell me you make a ton of money for this."

Arthur grinned. "I do. I've got about thirty million U.S. dollars stored in various accounts across the world. I need to keep it spread out because I never know when I'm going to have to run."

"You're loaded," Adam remarked.

"Oh, Arthur," Eva said, looking distressed. Arthur reached over and took her hand, looking into her green eyes. "How do you live like this?"

He smiled. "I love it, mom. Lucid dreaming… There's nothing like it. The adrenaline rush, the freedom… It's priceless. I feel so alive. I create whole worlds that don't exist here, cities built from nothing. It makes me happy, if you can believe that."

"It's really worth it?"

"Yes," Arthur said. He wasn't sure it was now, but moving on…

"Where do you live when you're not working?" Adam wondered. "All over?"

"Up until last year, yes," Arthur said. He let go of his mother's hand to run his fingers through his hair, which looked more like Adam's today. "I moved to Paris last October. I didn't even leave France until last summer, actually. I never do that."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "What's in Paris?"

Arthur's mouth quirked in a half-grin. "My girlfriend. Er, ex-girlfriend. You actually met her on Tuesday."

"I did?" Adam frowned in thought.

"Yeah. She brought Morgan back to you."

Adam's eyes widened in recognition. "Ariadne. She said her name was Ariadne." He didn't wait for Arthur to confirm this, instead plowing on. "She was your girlfriend? Wow. How old is she?"

Arthur laughed. "Is that really the detail you latch on to?"

"Answer the question."

"She's twenty-three," Arthur said. "And I'd like to remind you that she isn't my girlfriend anymore."

Adam chuckled. "Good for you, Arthur. What happened? Did she find out what you really do?"

"No, she's definitely a part of it all," Arthur said. "She's a dream architect, a graduate student at the same university Cobb attended. And 'what happened' is unimportant. We just grew apart."

"How long did you date her?"

_Hm_. "A year."

"That sounds important," Eva noted, rejoining the conversation. "I would've liked to meet her."

"She's cute," Adam said.

"She's beautiful," Arthur disagreed. "But I'm not really here to talk about my ex-girlfriend. If either of you wanted to know something about me, or the last eleven years of my life… Ask now. Otherwise I'm going to just start firing questions off at you two."

"I have a question," Eva said softly. "How are your legs?"

Arthur grimaced. "Scarred. But otherwise, I'm fine. No long-lasting effects." He hesitated, seeing Eva's doubtful look. "Okay, I did have PTSD for a while. But it's gone away. I'm fine."

"Even around water?"

He thought of how he held Micah's face under the surf, doing to Micah the torture that had been done on him eleven years ago. "Even around water."

The backdoor slid open and Lily appeared, with the kids in tow. She smiled in apology.

"We got too hungry," she said, as Tom and Morgan sat at the table on the other side of Adam.

"That's good," Eva said, dishing enchiladas out with enthusiasm. "Because grandma made plenty!" She frowned and looked at Arthur. "You don't happen to have any children, do you?"

Arthur laughed. "God, mom. _No_."

"Are you sure?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Arthur said. "I'm sure. Sorry to disappoint, mom."

"No, no," she said, waving a hand. "I'm very satisfied with having you here. You're more than enough." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, causing Arthur to smile.

Lily looked at them. "So everything is okay?"

"More than okay," Adam said. "Arthur's been traveling for the last eleven years."

"Oh?" Lily looked surprised. "What do you do? Or did the military…?" She trailed off, but Arthur knew what her question was.

"The military and I parted amicably," Arthur said. "Mom has all of my medals and everything; right?" Eva nodded.

"They gave me a flag," she said.

Arthur grimaced. "Yes, they would've. To answer your question, Lily, I don't deal with the military these days. After um…" He glanced at the kids and raised his eyebrows at Adam, who shook his head. They didn't know what had happened, which made perfect sense to Arthur. They were so young. "After my injury, they worked with me to make sure everything was how I wanted it to be. That included my request that they take me off the grid when I left Harvard. Arthur Zaleski technically no longer exists as of January 1, 2003."

Lily nodded slowly, clearly full of the questions Arthur had just answered for Adam and Eva.

"Dad said you were a soldier," Tom said suddenly.

"I was," Arthur confirmed.

"Not anymore?"

Arthur nodded. "Not for a long time."

"I want to be a soldier when I grow up."

Arthur froze, staring at Tom with wide eyes. He was aware of the surprised look Adam and Lily exchanged, while Eva started wringing her hands, studying Arthur's reaction. Arthur swallowed audibly.

"I…" He took a deep breath. "That's great, Tom."

Tom shrugged, swallowing another mouthful of enchilada. Arthur stared at the boy for a long moment. Adam leaned closer to him.

"He's just like you," he murmured to Arthur. "He reminds me of you all the time."

Arthur didn't say anything to that. He wasn't sure how to respond. Instead, he turned to Lily to ask her to tell him about herself.

Lunch was surprisingly pleasant and light, considering the shock that still hovered over the table. Arthur listened mostly, as Lily, Adam and Eva talked about their lives and all that he'd missed in the past years. Eva got up and returned with dozens of photo albums to show Arthur, flipping through them with pure happiness. Adam accentuated her photos with stories and vivid descriptions; like Arthur, he also had a photographic memory. Lily pulled out her cell phone, offering the most recent photos. They sat at the table for hours, long after the food had grown cold and Tom and Morgan had wandered away to play on their own.

As the sun began to drift down, Eva rose to prepare dinner, shooting down Arthur's requests of help. She shooed him away, accepting Lily's help in doing the dishes.

"I can at least do that," Arthur said impatiently. "Come on, I'm way behind on my chores around here-"

"No, no," Eva said, as Lily side-stepped Arthur. She nodded at Adam. "Go play with your brother, please. I'm sure you two have a lot to catch up on. You used to be joined at the hip."

Arthur opened his mouth to tell Eva that he'd already shared everything he planned on talking about already, but then an idea struck him. A truly devastating and fascinating idea, one that could impact his future plans. He glanced at Adam, thinking.

"Sure," he said at last. Adam smirked, and strolled out of the kitchen.

Arthur followed him down the short hallway of the house. He studied the walls, the numerous photos of his and Adam's school portraits, the occasional photo of them with their parents (back in the '80s) and then both of them standing beside Eva at their high school graduation, their arms around her. The hallway photos hadn't changed, though Arthur had noticed that the more prominently displayed photos in the living room had. They were almost all of Adam with Lily; at their wedding, when they were dating, engagement shots, and then the rest were of Tom and Morgan, their births and them growing up.

Arthur knew that this arrangement was Eva's attempt at moving on.

Adam opened the door to the room at the end of the hall, and Arthur walked inside after him, looking around his childhood bedroom.

There were two small twin beds in the middle of the room, separated only by a tiny nightstand. The walls were painted a light blue, the ceiling of the room covered with those flimsy plastic stars that glowed in the dark. There were two desks side-by-side, a single bookshelf stuffed to the brim and a closet neatly closed. Arthur smiled and sank down on to his bed, the one by the window, while Adam did the same on his own.

"Well?" Adam asked.

Arthur grinned. "It looks the same." He ran his hand over his green quilt, aware that if he were to lay down on the bed now his feet would be dangerously close to hanging off the end, something he and Adam had joked about during their growth spurt.

He swallowed. "Adam, there's something I need to tell you."

Adam raised an eyebrow, and Arthur wondered if he also looked that condescending sometimes. "Go for it. I'm definitely interested in hearing what you have to say."

Arthur hesitated, fiddling with the old tear in his quilt. He thought of how easy it had been to tell Miles his plan, and how Micah had managed to get it out of him without much issue. But telling his brother was something else entirely, and Arthur wasn't sure how to say it. He settled for spitting it out.

"Adam, there is a very good chance that I will die in four days."

There was a long silence, during which Arthur forced himself to look in his brother's auburn eyes, identical to his own. Adam's jaw was slack, as he gaped at Arthur, illustrating another key difference between them: Arthur would never have showed his emotions so much. His eyes glanced down at Adam's clothes, also so different: baggy jeans, sneakers, a white t-shirt from a May Day marathon. Clothes Arthur would never wear.

"Are you shitting me?" Adam asked breathlessly.

"No," Arthur murmured. "I told you I'm here for a job; that's true. What I didn't tell you is that this job is the most dangerous I've ever done. We're going three levels down in the dream; the very most is usually two. If we die in the dream, we're sent to Limbo; that's unlimited dream space. Nothing is down there. Your mind will turn to spaghetti as you spend eternity there, never knowing you're dreaming." Adam looked horrified as Arthur spoke. "But we actually need to be more worried about waking up. Our employer is a very powerful and sociopathic businessman named Peter Browning. If we fail, he won't hesitate to kill us."

Arthur paused before continuing. "We're being coerced to do this job. Cobb… His kids—my godchildren, actually—were kidnapped by this man as leverage. And then Cobb found leverage against me." He glanced at Adam. "I told you I was living in Paris with Ariadne. I retired from dreaming last year, because I wanted to be with her."

Adam stared. "But… You love dreaming."

"But I love her more," Arthur said softly. "Anyway, Cobb decided he needed me to do the job, knowing how impossible it is. I told him I couldn't do it; I've been trying to lose my tails for a year, trying to create a new life. That would be ruined if I went with him. So Cobb told me he would tell Cobol where to find Ariadne if I didn't agree. I'm legally dead; I can run and evade Cobol on my own, but she can't. I had to agree to this."

"I thought you'd broken up," Adam said in confusion.

Arthur swallowed. "We did. But that doesn't change how I feel." He paused. "I want Ariadne to make it out of the dream okay, and then I want her to return to France safely. This is next to impossible on her own. I am planning to die, so she doesn't have to. He can have me, as long as she's untouched."

"Shit," Adam breathed. "You really love her."

"Yes."

Adam ran a hand through his messy hair. "Jesus, Arthur. I don't…" He raised his eyes, and Arthur was stunned by the water in them. "I just got you back," Adam croaked. "And now you're telling me you're going to die."

Arthur swallowed, gripping the blankets under him. "I'm sorry, Adam. But I can't watch her die. Not without doing everything I can to prevent it first."

"I can't listen to this," Adam snapped. "Fuck, Arthur. Is this the real reason you're here? To say goodbye to us?"

Arthur frowned. "I'm not telling mom. She would never let me leave the house again."

"I have half a mind to chain you to your bed."

Arthur smiled. "Please, don't. I came here today because I wanted to see her. And I'm telling you this because I want you to know. I want you to prepare for it, and then you need to prepare to tell mom afterwards."

"She'll lose it," Adam croaked. "She's already lived thinking you were dead. You're her son, Arthur."

"So are you."

"It's not the same!" Adam burst out. "God, do you not know what it's like? Everyone always talks about how hard it is to lose a sibling, but I lost my _twin_. You were my best friend. Shit, before Lily, you were my other half. You meant everything to me. I'll never forget how I felt when I heard you were rescued, and how it felt like my heart broke when I heard you were killed."

Arthur closed his eyes. "I know. I hated leaving you behind, and not telling you the truth…"

"I've thought about you everyday," Adam continued. "Every single day. Everything from '_Arthur would've loved this Metallica concert_,' to _'I wonder what Arthur would say about that annoying new nurse_.' I comforted myself by convincing myself that you were with me still, in your own way. I did it all, the same things I did after dad died; I've been picking up random pennies, looking for shapes in spilled salt, oddly shaped flowers. Anything that would suggest you were still around."

Arthur swallowed. "I was-"

"I named my kids after you," Adam continued.

"What?" Arthur asked, not expecting that. His mind went into overdrive, considering Thomas and Morgan's names and trying to find a connection. "I don't-"

"The name 'Thomas' means 'twin,'" Adam said quietly. "I thought about naming him Arthur, but I couldn't do it. I wasn't ready, and mom would never have been able to say it with complete happiness; she'd always be a little sad. Do you know what his middle name is?"

He actually didn't. "No."

"It's Bedivere," Adam said. "Thomas Bedivere Zaleski. I actually wanted his first name to be Bedivere, but Lily shot it down. Probably a good thing, it kind of sucks. Anyway, Bedivere was King Arthur's best friend. He was with him in every battle, and he was the one who threw Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake after Arthur died. It took him a couple tries, but he managed to do it. He brought Arthur to his final resting place; the name actually means 'one who knows Arthur's grave.' I wanted him to be named Bedivere because I wanted to think that he would always know you, and that you could love him in some way."

Arthur swallowed, overwhelmed, as he realized the other connection. "Morgan le Fay."

Adam nodded. "Exactly. King Arthur's sister. And I know she and Arthur hated each other for a while, but they reconciled in the end. She was one of the enchantresses who carried Arthur to Avalon. I named her Morgan, because I wanted to mark her birth by letting you go. Like my daughter was here to finally fill in the hole you left."

"Adam," Arthur whispered. "I don't know what to say."

"I want you to know," Adam continued, tears starting to fall down his face. "That I've always loved you. That I've always looked up to you, even though I'm technically older. You're everything I've wanted to be. Smarter, faster, stronger, braver. You're the most incredible person I've ever met, from everything in Afghanistan to your dream sharing to the way you want to sacrifice yourself still. You've always done that. You've always protected me, even when I failed to protect you."

Arthur bit his lip, looking at his knees. "Don't, Adam. Please, don't."

"Why?" Adam demanded. "This is my last chance, isn't it? You're going to fucking die, and you're okay with it. What's wrong with you?"

"If it was Lily," Arthur said slowly. "Or Tom, or Morgan… Would you hesitate?"

Adam stilled, Arthur's logic sinking in. "I… I see your point."

"Adam," Arthur murmured. "I want you to know something. I want you to know that you've been the best brother I could ever want. I looked up to you, Adam. You were always so calm and cool, and brilliant. You helped me recover after I saw dad die, and you were always there when I came home from Afghanistan, and you were the one who put me back together. I've thought of you so much over the last eleven years, and the fact you can forgive me for all I put you through…. But even when I was at my happiest, something was missing, and that was you. You're my twin, too. I know what it feels like to be without that." He smiled. "And I love you, too, you idiot."

Adam laughed, and the two men looked at each other, mirror reflections and opposites all in one. Arthur finally blinked.

"There's something I was wondering if you could do for me," Arthur said. "A last request, if you will."

"Anything," Adam said.

Arthur nodded, grateful for his agreeability. "You won't get a call from anyone saying I'm dead, because I legally am, and no one on my team will call because they don't know much about you. So this is what will happen: wait a week, until October 27th. If I haven't called by then, assume I died. When you have time, as soon as possible… Get on a plane to Paris. I'll wire some money into your bank account tonight to pay for the ticket."

Adam gaped at him. "Why?"

"Because there is something you will need to give to Ariadne."

"What is it?" Adam asked, his eyes running over Arthur as if expecting him to pull out something else, though he obviously didn't know what it was.

Arthur smiled sadly. "It's safe to assume that my team had to flee the country after I died. They may even have to leave all of my things behind, including my laptop and everything else. I don't want to leave Ariadne without an explanation from me, especially if…" He swallowed. "If I don't get to tell her how much I loved her before. When I get home tonight, I'm going to record a message for her, and then I will burn it onto a DVD and mail it to your house. It'll get there in a couple days. I'd just do the whole thing digitally and time it to arrive in her inbox afterwards, but… I don't trust the associates of my employer. I don't want them to find it. Only you can have it." He smiled again. "If I do survive, please do me a favor and burn it, okay?"

Adam laughed. "Do I get to keep the money if you survive?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay," he said, smiling. He sobered up though, the gravity of what he was agreeing to weighing heavily on his shoulders. "Okay."

Arthur sighed deeply, feeling relieved, like he'd transferred his stress to his twin. "Thank you, Adam."

"You're welcome, Arthur," Adam breathed. Almost in unison, they stood, and Arthur hugged his brother tightly. He could feel Adam shaking, and knew the rest of their day together was going to be rough, especially when their mother saw them again and recognized the heartache and loss in their faces.

Adam gripped the back of Arthur's shirt and Arthur blinked furiously.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Adam. I'm so sorry."

**Review, please**


	28. My Body Is A Cage

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Reviewers rule! Nina.4444: Thankyouthankyou :D! Your review made my day. Eeyore08: Yes, I might've punched him too, but Adam's a calmer guy than Arthur... Plus, he's a trauma surgeon, he's gonna need that hand! L: I think Eva and Adam were so happy to see Arthur again that they ignored everything else, they've missed him so much... In. Blue. 85: Thanks! We're 10 chapters from the ending... LeslieSophia: Yay for plot development! I loved writing "Blue Valentines," the catharsis just overwhelmed me. Knuckiducki: I don't think I'll get to 150 before the story is over, but loving the support! And you definitely weren't the only one who would've slapped Arthur, but glad you got your fill of Adam. I hope you do re-read it, and sorry about "This Must Be The Place," I love that song. And I didn't know that about JGL but I'm pretty sure Tom Waits is THE BEST THING EVER so there we go.**

**And I forgot AGAIN: Eva Beckett is my Original Character.**

**Here we go, the big reveal... Arthur's past.**

**Chapter title from the song by Arcade Fire. Fits very well with this chapter.**

My Body Is A Cage

Monday, October 17, 2011: Los Angeles, California: Pete's Café and Bar: Eames

_She still isn't okay._

The thought ran rampant through Eames' mind, becoming a mantra. He hovered behind Ariadne, watching as she ordered a coffee and bagel at the counter. He studied her as she pulled out her wallet (she'd refused Eames' offer of buying breakfast for her), her face downcast all the while.

Her face was drawn and paler than normal. Her lovely chocolate brown eyes were watery and bloodshot, framed by dark bags that were the product of sleeplessness and sorrow. Her hair seemed almost lank, which didn't make sense to Eames' at all: he knew she was taking showers, since he could hear the water run every morning. Then again, he wondered how it was possible she wasn't sleeping. When she wasn't working or eating, she was in her room, the lights off.

_She's not just lying there in the dark, is she?_

Ariadne shuffled off to the side to pick up her coffee and Eames stepped forward, ordering his own cappuccino and muffin. He couldn't help but look at Ariadne out of the corner of his eye, as she picked up her cup of coffee and sat at a small table near the door.

He joined her a moment later, navigating the patrons of the café as he strolled over. It was just after ten o'clock. The job was in three days. Eames still had plenty to do (it seemed like his to-do list was never ending) but one glance at how miserable Ariadne looked convinced him that he needed to sit down and make her open up on what was troubling her. He hadn't expected how difficult that would be.

She'd looked at him like he was mad. "Why?"

"Because we've barely talked," Eames had replied.

It was true. He'd gotten back in the late afternoon on Saturday after spending time with Browning and discussing Maurice. He'd walked into the warehouse, expecting to see every member of the team hard at work.

Instead, he'd found only Cobb, Yusuf and Micah. Ariadne and Arthur were nowhere in sight.

Ignoring the odd falling feeling of his stomach, Eames had turned to Cobb, doing his best to be casual as he asked where they were.

"I have no idea where Arthur is, but Ariadne took my car to get some cardboard." The extractor had glanced at his watch. "She left about two hours ago."

Eames had stared, stunned and bewildered. "What happened?"

"No idea." Cobb had given Eames a hard look. "And I wouldn't ask. It's between them."

Ariadne had eventually returned, seemingly oblivious to the way her mascara was streamed across her cheeks. She'd cast a cursory glance around the room, and Eames had wondered if he was the only one who'd seen her shoulders fall when she noticed Arthur had not returned. She'd sat at her desk, worked for about ten minutes before announcing she wanted to go back to the hotel for an early night.

That'd been all she would say that day. And yesterday, she'd been cordial and friendly to Eames, but nothing else. She was keeping her distance from them all, even with Arthur gone all day.

_I guess I haven't seen him in a while,_ Eames realized. He found it difficult to generate worry though. He was quite fine with never seeing the point man again.

Eames reached Ariadne and sat down across from her, taking a deep sip of his cappuccino.

"Delicious," he murmured. "I'll give the Yanks one thing; they do know how to make coffee."

Ariadne merely blinked, picking at her bagel. As he watched, she abandoned the bread, instead picking up her coffee and drinking. It was then Eames noticed she was drinking the coffee black.

"You always take it with sugar and cream," he said aloud, having noticed this in the mornings before they left the hotel. He looked at her, confused. She looked back, impassive. "Why are you drinking it black?"

She looked away, tucking a random strand of messy dark brown hair behind her ear. Eames stared at her, his mind working intensely to come up with a logical answer.

"It… It keeps me calm," she murmured.

Calm. Eames' mind immediately presented him with the most readily available example of someone who was calm. Calm, cool and collected; and psychotic.

"Oh," he breathed. "Arthur drinks his coffee black."

Ariadne neither confirmed nor denied this. Instead, she raised the mug to her mouth, pressing the cup to her lips. She inhaled, keeping her eyes oddly blank, her hands clutching the cup in an almost desperate way.

The sight made Eames' heart clench. He knew then that he needed to get to the bottom of what had happened between Ariadne and Arthur.

"Ariadne," he said softly. "I have to ask. You've been acting so bizarrely for the past couple a days. Sometimes it seems like you're not really here, like you're somewhere else… Ari, are you okay?"

She stared at him, her expression surprised.

"I'm fine, Edward," she said quietly.

"Please, love," Eames continued. "Tell me what happened."

She frowned. "When? On Saturday?" She shrugged, setting down the coffee and reaching for her bagel, not eating and instead choosing to tear it into pieces. "Nothing really surprising happened, Edward. Arthur and I have broken up. That's it. We're over."

The way her voice trembled told Eames there was more to that statement.

"You're upset," he said.

"Of course I am," Ariadne snapped, her expression recovering to the ferocity Eames adored about her. "I've loved him for over a year now, and I've lost him in a matter of days. For a year, I've seen him every single day, and he's been crazily in love with me for all of those days. Now he sees me as a stranger. And I have to pretend that I'm okay with this, when in fact…"

"You're not."

Ariadne nodded silently, biting her lip furiously. "I can't stop crying, Edward. I never knew…" She trailed off, pulling her bagel apart more violently, and Eames wondered if the bagel was supposed to represent her shattered heart. "I never knew I could hurt this much," she admitted at last.

Eames swallowed, his voice caught in his throat at her pain. He wanted nothing more than to help her, to make her laugh and smile again. He wanted to remind her that he was there, that he in fact—

_Do you?_

Did he love her? It was a question Eames had been grappling with for a few days. He'd only recently become aware of how deeply he felt for her, a longing that had developed into outright desire. He hadn't dared explicitly act on it though, not with Arthur around. Now that Ariadne was beginning to move on, though… He wasn't sure how to proceed.

Because she clearly missed him.

He settled for taking her hand in his. She let him, but he was aware of the tension in her fingers.

"Ari," he said. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. "You're going to be okay. If you need anything… Please don't hesitate to ask, love."

He couldn't help but feel surprised when she pulled her hand out of his grip. He looked at her expression, startled by how tense and uncertain she looked.

"I know, Edward," she murmured. "Thank you."

He blinked, unsure about her aloofness. "It doesn't sound like it. Do you want to… You know. Talk about anything?"

"No," she said swiftly. She glanced down at her bagel in the same moment, a confused expression on her face. "I don't want this." She got up abruptly, taking her bag with her as she breezed out the door, leaving her coffee behind. Eames chugged as much cappuccino as he could before seizing his muffin and darting out after her.

It was overcast in Los Angeles, the city obscured by a thick cloud mixture of fog and smog. Eames blinked, shouldering his coat higher as he looked from left to right. He spotted Ariadne, standing beside his car, her face studying her reflection in the window.

He approached her hesitantly, like he would speak to an unstable person. He recognized the silence she'd created around herself and instead stood beside her, looking at their reflections.

"You're right," Ariadne whispered. "I look awful."

"I never said that," Eames disagreed quickly.

She smiled sadly. "I know. But you're right. I look like I'm somewhere else. I certainly feel like that. Sometimes I wonder if I'm dreaming, if I'm not really awake…" As she spoke, she reached into a side pocket of her jacket, and revealed the totem Eames dimly recalled was her own.

Ariadne knelt on the ground, placing her totem on the sidewalk. Eames watched as she flicked it, her eyes locked on the small chess piece. She sighed as it toppled quite easily.

"Guess not," she said. "I'm a little disappointed."

"Ari," Eames said seriously. He knelt down next to her, reflecting on how odd they must've looked, two people kneeling on the sidewalk. "I'm serious about me being here. If you need to talk, about anything at all, go ahead. I do know what you're going through. I lost Isabel."

She shook her head stubbornly. "It's different. You willingly gave her up. You chose dreaming over her."

"True," Eames said grudgingly. "But Arthur did that to you. He chose himself over you. His demons over you…"

Ariadne raised her eyes, and Eames instantly regretted his words. But he was shocked by what she asked.

"Do you hate him?"

Eames gawked. "What makes you say that?"

"You haven't been very friendly," Ariadne said. "You haven't had anything nice to say about him in a while. God, you even shot him. Whenever anyone mentions his name, you just about spit fire. You rage against Micah for forgiving him, and Cobb defending him. It's only logical that I think you hate Arthur."

"Hm…" Eames ran a hand over his face. "I see why you'd ask, yes. And I don't really know. I'm beginning to trust him again, after that stunt with the projection of you on the second level." Ariadne grimaced and Eames hurried on in his explanation. "But I'd only trust him as the point man. We might've been something like friends before, but certainly not now."

"You don't think you hate him."

"I don't think I hate him," Eames confirmed. "I just think he needs serious psychological help. There is something fundamentally wrong with the man."

Ariadne frowned. "I don't agree. I think he's the most amazing and brave person I've ever met." She looked pointedly at the car. "Unlock it?"

Eames had no choice but to do so, even though he was dying to know why Ariadne said a statement like that. He nodded, unlocking the door and darting around to the other side of the car and getting in. He started the engine and turned in the direction of the warehouse.

As he drove, he considered his thoughts on Arthur.

He'd learned so much about Arthur in the last week and a half… He knew his age, where he'd been living in retirement, hell, he'd even met his twin. But he still had no idea as to what made him tick. The more he thought about it, the more confused and dejected he felt. Cobb and Ariadne knew; Micah was learning more and more by the day. There was some dark event in Arthur's past that had irrevocably changed him, transforming him into the man he was today: one severely damaged. Eames was desperate to know what it was, but knew better than to ask anyone. Arthur would've sworn them all to secrecy. And after what had happened to Micah in the water, he had no doubt that they would all keep quiet—

_The water._

Cobb had said that Arthur knew when it would be too much for Micah because it was something that had happened to Arthur many times. Eames almost swerved off the road in amazement.

Had Arthur been abused as a child? He knew practically nothing about the point man's family, save for the fact his identical twin brother seemed to be happy, with a wife and kids. But Eames knew nothing about Arthur's parents, who they were or where they were. He did know, however, that Arthur's father was dead. He glanced at Ariadne, who was gazing out the window, lost in her own thoughts. He remembered her saying she hadn't met Adam until that day at the market. Did that include his mother?

_Probably_, Eames thought. _Especially if she thinks Arthur is dead._

Eames wasn't exactly close to his own parents, or either of his two sisters. But he visited them a couple times a year, checking in and the like. He couldn't imagine ever shutting them out completely.

He drove down the freeway, looking again at Ariadne.

_How many women has he loved before you?_

It couldn't have been many, and Arthur surely had never even imagined giving up dream sharing for one before. There was something about Ariadne that had caused Arthur to realize that she was the only one he wanted. He remembered seeing their embrace at the airport and feeling so awkward, like he was intruding. He remembered the way Arthur looked at Ariadne after she was stabbed, how he hovered over her, telling her to grip his hands for support. He thought of the look on Arthur's face when Ariadne spoke to him behind the warehouse that night, how he trembled as he begged her to reconsider. He thought of the way Arthur checked her stitches, his hands and stance worshipping her like a goddess.

_Why did they break up?_ Eames wondered. He thought about asking Ariadne, but stopped himself. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer to that question.

They reached the warehouse, and Ariadne got out, hurrying inside without a word to Eames. He followed more slowly, bewildered by her behavior. She was acting so strangely, and not just in a heartbroken way. There was something else that was bothering her.

_Everyone's a bloody mystery,_ he thought to himself.

The warehouse was buzzing with activity. Eames spotted Yusuf working with Micah, writing down notes as he studied the sleeping student, whose mouth had fallen open slightly. Across the room, Cobb was on the phone, writing furiously as he talked to the person on the line. Eames glanced around and yes, Arthur was sitting at his desk. The point man was reading yet another book, his eyes running swiftly over the pages as he committed them to memory.

Eames glanced to the side, watching Ariadne as she approached her desk. She kept her eyes lowered, opening her bag and taking out various pens and notebooks. Eames looked from her to Arthur. Arthur was focusing on his book and showed no sign of having seen Ariadne arrive.

_Why?_

Cobb hung up the phone. He looked deeply stressed, running a hand over his hair. Eames noticed how gaunt Cobb looked; his suit seemed to hang off him, and his hair looked oddly greasy.

_Is everyone falling apart around here?_ Eames glanced back at Yusuf and Micah. They looked okay, at least.

He was about to go over to his own desk and get to work on watching a few more videos of Maurice with a young Robert when Cobb waved his hand, his signal for a meeting. So Eames abandoned his journey to his desk and walked towards the center of the room, perching on one of the beach chairs.

The others gathered around and Cobb clenched his hands together, as if he was considering what to say. Eames glanced around at the people around him. Arthur and Ariadne were sitting on opposite sides of the circle, studiously ignoring the other's existence.

_Am I the only one who sees a problem here?_

"Who was on the phone, Cobb?" Arthur asked.

"A manager at the power plant," Cobb replied, looking concerned. "He was telling me that they're running some annual maintenance this week, and that it might interfere with the job…"

Eames scowled. "Yes, heaven forbid anything goes right with this job."

"What kind of maintenance?" Micah wondered.

"Pipes," Cobb replied. "He thinks it'll be out of our way, but he wanted to give us a heads' up. Which is greatly appreciated, obviously."

Cobb sighed, and Eames got the impression that he didn't think this was nearly enough. But Cobb didn't elaborate.

"Anyway," the extractor continued. "I wanted to check in and-"

But what exactly Cobb wanted to do, Eames never found out. Because the front door of the warehouse burst open and a group of men came stomping in.

They were all dressed in dark suits, their faces expressionless and generic. Eames sized them up swiftly, recognizing their muscles; he was prepared to bet each carried an advanced gun or some other lethal weapon. What surprised him was the man at the front of the tight knot: it was none other than Peter Browning.

And he looked angry.

His hair was disheveled, his hands clenched into fists; he looked unbelievably pissed off. Eames was even more amazed at his expression. His eyes were wide and wild, a mix of pure fury and… fear?

"There!" Browning yelled, pointing a furious finger. Eames followed its direction and realized, with a start, that he was pointing at Arthur. "That's him!"

The men he'd brought began to move towards Arthur. Arthur leapt out of his chair but kept his stance, his hand reaching for the inside of his jacket. That slowed the men down; they stopped, standing just outside the circle.

Cobb stared. "Mr. Browning? What's going on?"

Browning ignored him. He stepped past the men and marched straight up to Arthur, until he was facing the point man head on.

"You've played me," he hissed, spit practically flying from his mouth. Arthur remained still, just watching, as if Browning was a mildly interesting television show. "You're a liar, Arthur Zaleski. And I want those files back."

"Sorry," Arthur said, not sounding sorry at all. "Those are classified. I was actually expecting a thank you. I had to pull some strings to allow you to see them."

"_Liar_!" Browning screamed. "I should have you killed right now."

Arthur merely blinked. "By all means, Mr. Browning. Do as you see fit." He cocked his head though and smirked, laughing in the face of Browning's threat, completely unafraid. "But I think that would throw the completion of this job into jeopardy, don't you?"

Browning was seething. He whipped his head around to glare at Cobb.

"Do you know what this man is?" He demanded, waving his arms at Arthur. "Do you understand the huge liability you've allowed on this team?"

Cobb stared. "I don't know what you mean."

"Arthur Zaleski," Browning spat. "Is perhaps one of the military's biggest modern day secrets. Not only is he their pioneer in shared dreaming, but he is one of their biggest war heroes. He's a fucking legend, a myth people are still trying to uncover. There are thousands of historians trying to track him down as we speak."

Micah's mouth fell open. "What?"

Browning held out his hand. It was almost comical, how one of the burly security men stepped forward to pass him a small manila envelope. Browning ripped it open and spread three photographs on the table in front of Cobb. Eames got up and joined everyone, save for Arthur, in looking at them.

They were all black and white. One was grainy, and taken in the middle of a desert. A man stood with his back to them, his face in profile. He wore the uniform of a soldier, protective armor and helmet included. The background was bare, no sign of anything else. If Eames hadn't spent so much time around Arthur, he never would've recognized him.

The second was even grainier. There were a few trucks, plain and white, almost blending in to the light desert. Guns were being fired from two sides, bursts of light signaling this; on one side, men dressed in Arabian dress, the other, soldiers. A small group of the Arabian men were in the center, dragging something with them. Eames could only make out a pair of legs dressed in army fatigues.

It was the last photo that really captured his attention.

It was a man lying in a hospital bed. He was severely beaten from head to toe, mottled patches of colors ruining his light skin. Some of his joints stuck out at awkward angles, like they'd been broken. His skin was torn with badly healed cuts and stab wounds, along with a couple of wounds that were clearly from bullets. But what really made Eames want to throw up were the man's legs: they were nearly unrecognizable. They stuck out at unnatural angles, and a bit of bone could even be seen jutting out of the knee.

Eames couldn't imagine a man in this state ever being able to walk again. But the living proof of this was beside him. For even though the man in the photograph's face was disgustingly ruined, there was no denying that it was Arthur.

"Arthur Zaleski was at Harvard University for the U.S. Military," Browning hissed all at once. "He was trained as a soldier while he studied as a student. In the summer of his third year, he was sent to Afghanistan as part of a reconnaissance mission in the desert. His team was ambushed at a check point by militants from al Qaeda hoping to find out more about why the United States was in the country. Staff Sergeant Zaleski yelled at his team to run, holding off the militants long enough for his comrades to escape, but at the cost of his own safety. At nineteen years old, Arthur Zaleski became a prisoner of al Qaeda."

Eames wondered if this was what it felt like to have a heart attack. He gripped the table, his eyes locked on the photo of Arthur in the hospital.

_"When was the last time you spoke to your brother, Arthur?"_

_"Eleven years ago. He visited me in a hospital room."_

"For six months, Staff Sergeant Zaleski was tortured by al Qaeda," Browning said, his voice like shrapnel. "He was shocked by electricity-" in the photo, Eames saw the odd burns on Arthur's chest "-had his fingernails and toenails torn out-" Eames looked at his hands and feet, and yes, there were none "-the soles of his feet were burned-" he couldn't see the bottom of his feet, but Eames believed Browning wholeheartedly "-he was routinely beaten with whips, chains and knives-" yes, there was no denying that whatsoever "-often placed in a stress position for hours on end, up until the day they decided it would be more beneficial to break and mutilate his legs-" how was Arthur alive? "-and most often, what the military itself referred to as 'stress and duress' but which the rest of us would call water boarding. This happened to him at least two times a week, always before or after some other kind of torture."

There was a long silence following Browning's speech. Eames felt like he was about to pass out. He turned around slowly, the others following his lead. Arthur stood behind them, his hands in his pockets, his eyes glued to the photos.

He took a step forward, and Eames and Micah hurried to get out of his way. Eames glanced at Micah; the student's eyes were huge with horror, and he seemed to be quivering. Eames quickly turned back to Arthur.

His face was neutral as his hand reached out. He touched each photo lightly, studying it like the researcher he was. He paused on the last photo and he picked it up, treating it like a lost memento.

"I remember when this photo was taken," he murmured. He turned to them, and for some reason, his eyes locked on Eames'. "I was rescued in the middle of the night by a group of Seals. They pulled me out of the pit I'd been left in—left in to die, most honestly—and took me away. I passed out fairly quickly, only awakening when the doctors tried to set my bones right. They had to re-break a number of them. It was painful, but compared to the last six months… It wasn't anything I couldn't bear."

Browning's eyes bugged out. "You're the bravest man the military ever had."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Hardly."

"I don't understand how you're still alive," Browning snapped. He waved his hand at the photo Arthur was holding. "Any normal man would've given up within days. Hours, most likely. But you made it six months. And you didn't give anything away. They knew you were valuable; they had spies who told them you were the leading soldier on dream sharing. But you were so much more than that. You were the machine they could not destroy. Not physically… Not even psychologically."

"I understood exactly what was happening and why," Arthur murmured. "So I was able to keep my mind with me. I was just worried about brain damage. That can happen if enough oxygen doesn't get to the brain, and that's exactly what occurs during water boarding. I always ran tests on my mind afterwards, doing what little I could to prevent that… And I guess they worked." He shrugged, setting the photo down and turning to Browning. "So what exactly is your problem?"

Browning glared. "You did this on purpose. You orchestrated your files coming to my office and you set the restrictions on how much I could see. You planned on me only being able to find these." He gestured wildly to the photographs.

"Not exactly," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I didn't know you'd be able to print anything."

"So you admit-"

"Mr. Browning." All the cordiality and formality was gone from Arthur's tone. He straightened, looking at Browning with a completely deadly and cold expression in his eyes.

"Listen to me very carefully," Arthur continued. "I wanted you to see these files. This was only possible with my permission and my passwords. After I was rescued, the military told me I was free to do what I wished, and I wanted sole control of what happened to the files on me. They're completely hidden and impossible to recover. Unless I allow it."

He waited for this to sink in before continuing. "The reason I wanted you to know is simple: I am going to kill you, Mr. Browning. No, not today," he said, as Browning made a sudden movement. "Not until the job is over. But you have ruined my life, and the lives of people I care about. I refuse to live under the sword you have over our heads. If there is anything I need, it's freedom. It's my constant, Mr. Browning, and you are the threat I am facing."

Arthur continued to speak softly and slowly, enunciating every word. "I am giving you a fair warning, Mr. Browning. Do not screw with me. You know who I am, and what I can do. You know that I am coming for you. The only way you can stop me is by agreeing to let every member of my team go after the job, unharmed in every possible way."

"What happens to you?" Browning breathed.

Eames was visited by a memory of Micah, leaning over him as the dream of the test level fell around them: "Arthur will save us…"

_"But he doesn't want to save himself."_

And Eames knew what Arthur would say.

He shrugged in response to Browning's question. "You decide how you want to deal with me. I will respond in kind. I am going to leave once my team has been let go. You can choose whether you will pursue me or let me go in peace. But you've read my files and you understand how I will react to your following me. I won't hesitate, Mr. Browning. I've been told I can kill like no one else."

He glanced at Eames as he spoke. Eames was speechless. He felt foolish, extremely and unequivocally foolish. He wanted to take back anything bad he'd ever said about Arthur, but he didn't know how…

Browning blinked furiously. "Well. I believe you've just signed your own death warrant, Mr. Zaleski." He straightened, fixing his tie all the while keeping his eyes locked on Arthur's face.

"I will see you on the 20th. I expect this job to still be done, and done well. The lives of your team members are still at stake, even if you have forfeited your own."

Arthur nodded once. "Very well. Goodbye, Mr. Browning."

Browning turned and stomped away, still quivering with anger and what Eames liked to think was fear. His entourage followed, trailing Browning to the door. They all disappeared.

Everyone in the warehouse remained still and silent, listening intently. Only when a car engine started and the squeal of tires could be heard did Eames dare breathe again.

"Oh my God." It was Micah's terrified squeak that brought them back to Earth. Yusuf sank into a chair, running his hands over his face. Cobb gripped the table, looking downwards at the photos Arthur had deposited on its surface. Eames put his hands in his pockets, turning his head to the side to look at Arthur.

The point man was standing utterly still, his eyes on the front door of the warehouse. His expression was neutral, resigned. He showed no fear at all over Browning's words.

And after what Eames had just learned about him, he didn't expect anything less.

When Arthur spoke, it was sudden. "Micah."

Micah raised his head, his eyes filled with shocked tears and anxiety. This was proving to be too much for him, and Eames wondered how different the student would be after the job.

"Yeah?" Micah asked.

"Do you understand now?" Arthur asked softly. He wasn't looking at Micah as he spoke. Instead, he continued to stare avidly at Eames, like he was an interesting math problem. "Or do you need more explanation? Now's the time to ask."

Micah visibly swallowed. "I'm good. But Arthur… Shit…"

"I told you it wasn't a good story," Arthur said quietly. He cleared his throat, but kept his eyes on Eames. "Now, if no one has anything they'd like to say, I need to talk to Eames."

"About?" Eames asked. His throat was parched.

"Something I've been putting off for too long," Arthur replied. He jerked his head at the door. "I'll drive."

"Arthur…" It was Ariadne who spoke this time. They all looked at her. Her eyes were glassy with emotion, and she was wringing her hands together furiously. "Arthur, why would you do this?"

She wasn't talking about his past, the revelations Browning had just given. She was talking about the present, and Arthur's words, and how he'd pretty much just thrown away his life.

"It needs to be done," he replied without much emotion. "Let it go, Ariadne."

Eames wondered if he meant 'it' as in Arthur's decision, or Arthur himself.

Arthur turned around abruptly, striding towards the front door. Eames looked around at the others—Ariadne's eyes stared beseechingly at Arthur's back—before hurrying after the point man.

He was already in the car and starting the engine by the time Eames slid into the front seat. Eames barely had time to grasp his seat belt in his hand before Arthur had pulled into traffic, the wheels screeching against the pavement.

Arthur hit the gas, accelerating swiftly. Eames looked out the windshield, staying quiet. He wasn't sure why he wasn't asking questions, demanding to know where they were going, or even about Arthur's torture in Afghanistan. The silence instead stretched on between them. Eames had a feeling that said more words than he ever could.

They didn't drive for long. Arthur found a beach, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the car. They were facing the ocean, an overcast sky above it. There were barely any people around; only tourists. Arthur gazed out at the ocean for a long moment.

"Now you know," he said at last.

Eames swallowed. "I think I do. Jesus Christ, Arthur. You never said…"

"I never wanted to," Arthur murmured. "There was never a need. Before today, only two people in the world knew my whole story: Cobb and Ariadne. And I only told Cobb because there were no lies in the world that could explain away the state of my legs. I won't show you; I'm sure you can imagine what I mean."

"Yes," Eames said. He looked out the window. "Arthur, why did you bring me here?"

There was another silence, during which Eames glanced at Arthur. The point man didn't look at him. He only stared out at the water.

"I was born in Oceanside, California, on June 9, 1981," Arthur said softly. "When I was seven years old, I watched my father's murder in Moscow. I was too young to realize that he'd been killed for being a military spy for the United States. I grew up under the watch of one of his friends, an army colonel, who taught me how to fight and how to use a gun. When I was sixteen, I entered Harvard University as an undergraduate, studying there as an army recruit. I would become a full-time soldier once I graduated."

Eames wondered why Arthur was telling him this, but wisely chose to not say a word.

"I studied abroad at Paris for a semester," Arthur continued. "Where I met Mal and Cobb. In the summer of 2000, at nineteen, I was sent to Afghanistan to study the landscape for dream sharing practices. It was supposed to be an easy task. We traveled lightly and with minimal protection. We were ambushed in the middle of the day. I was the leader of a patrol, and I told them to flee under the gunfire. They obeyed my command, and I was taken prisoner.

"Browning wasn't exaggerating," Arthur said, turning to Eames now. "I was tortured in every possible way. Many days, I just wanted to die. I could literally feel my body crumbling around me, and I knew my mind was sure to follow. Somehow, I managed to retain my sanity, to understand what was happening and why. So when I was rescued six months later, by a team that wasn't even there for me, but for someone else—the army gave me up as dead—I knew what was going on."

Arthur blinked, his face disturbingly light. "I recuperated in various hospitals for seven months, undergoing surgeries and reconstruction. My mother and brother stayed with me for the entire process. But my time as a prisoner had taught me how dangerous the business really was. I didn't want to give it up, though. That was the one thing the torture hadn't taken from me. So when Cobb showed up at Harvard one day, I knew I was ready to join his world. But first, I had to cut ties with my family.

"I lied," Arthur whispered. "I forced them out of my life. They returned to California, and I fed them stories of working hard to earn my degree, of trips to exotic places for rehabilitation. They understood why I wanted the space, but they didn't agree. Yet they left me alone. It was all too easy for me to go to Paris the day after I graduated from Harvard."

Arthur smiled, but it was more of an ironic grimace. "The military practically worshipped me. They told me I could have whatever I wanted, no questions asked. So I told them I wanted complete control of my files, to choose who knew my story. And then I told them that I wanted to be taken off the grid. Removed from all public and private records. I legally died on January 1, 2003. The public story was that I'd been killed in a second tour of duty. My mother was given a flag and an elaborate funeral service with a closed casket. While my family and friends grieved my death, I hopped a plane to Paris and never looked back."

"Arthur," Eames whispered. "Why…?"

"For the last ten years," Arthur continued. "I've lived a life of solitude and secrecy. Though Cobb has been my closest thing to a friend, he's never known who I really am. I've always had that barrier between me and the real world. I've prided myself on it. There is no one who can escape and run like me. I'm untouchable.

"Until, of course, I met Ariadne."

He looked at Eames now, really looked at him, and Eames was floored by the emotion in his face.

"I fell in love with her almost the moment I saw her," Arthur whispered brokenly. "I knew she was it for me. I knew I was done. The last year with her… It's been priceless. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I decided it was time to quit dream sharing, and I did. Until Cobb pulled me back.

"I've lost her," Arthur continued softly. "And while I can't accept it, I can pretend. Eames, you and I both know that this job…Someone isn't going to make it. And I'll be damned if it's her. I've been planning for this from the very start. Eames, I am going to die."

"So she doesn't have to," Eames realized.

He remember Arthur, staring hard at him in the bar, that first night in Los Angeles: "I_ trust you to do what needs to be done."_

Arthur nodded. "Even though she doesn't love me anymore, I'm not going to change my mind. I will die in three days. That's why I gave Browning my files; so he would have no choice but to choose me to be the one who takes the fall. And… I'm ready, Eames. I've reconciled with my mother and my brother, who have miraculously forgiven me for the hell I put them through. My brother even knows what will happen to me now, and he's ready to take care of the fallout here.

"Ariadne will go back to Paris," Arthur continued. "And finish her degree. Miles, who I've spoken to, will see this happen. He'll watch over her, until her family can take care of her. Micah is also aware of this, but he only knows so he can make sure Ariadne stays away from…Wherever it is I die. But I need you, Eames. You're the next best thing, the one person I know can get her out of the country at the last minute, who can protect her. I need you to get her away from here. I need you to take her home for me."

Eames swallowed. "Arthur…"

"I know you love her," Arthur said softly. "And while I don't approve, I understand. You'll take care of her. You're exactly what she needs right now." He fixed Eames with a steely glare. "But I want you to know something. I want you to know that she's the love of my life. That you will never love her like I love her. I love her more than you loved Isabel, because I have and will give up everything for her. I'm completely hers, and for a while, she was completely mine. I was going to marry her one day. When I die, everything I own will belong to her."

"Arthur," Eames interrupted. "I know. I know." He thought of how he felt about Ariadne, and knew Arthur was right. "God, she can't lose you."

"She can and she will," Arthur said. "She doesn't love me. She hates me."

"No she doesn't," Eames disagreed. He thought of Ariadne this morning, of how she'd been acting the last few days. "She's still in love with you. I see it in her face. This morning, we were having breakfast, and she told me, 'I can't stop crying, I never knew I could hurt-'"

Arthur closed his eyes, gripping the steering wheel and laying his head on it. "Stop it, Eames. Don't do this to me. She's just nostalgic. She doesn't know how to let me go, because she's never had a relationship that's lasted as long as ours did. It doesn't help that she has to reconcile with the fact that I am going to die. She'll be upset for a while after I'm gone, but she'll recover quickly enough." He raised his eyes, turning to Eames, and Eames felt his skin erupt in shivers when he saw the tears shimmering on Arthur's cheeks.

"When she moves on," he whispered. "And if she decides she wants you… You'd better love her like you've never loved anyone else. Or so help me, when you get to hell, I will be there to annihilate you."

Eames would have smiled if the situation hadn't been so dire. "You're okay with… Her and me?"

Arthur nodded. "Only if she wants you. If she says she wants to forget about us all, then get out of her life. Just obey whatever her wishes are. I can't leave this world without knowing she'll be surrounded by people who just want her happiness."

"I can't let you do this," Eames breathed. "Please, Arthur, let me die instead of you. I don't have someone to leave…"

"Neither do I," Arthur replied. "Not anymore. If I were to survive this job, I'd come home to nothing, because she would still move out and leave me." He turned back to Eames, his face calm and almost tranquil. "I don't want to see that happen. I'm an old man, Eames, trapped in the body of a young man, and I'm so tired. I'm ready."

Eames wanted to argue, but he knew a lost battle when he saw one. Arthur had decided to die, and nothing would shake that decision now.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," he settled for saying.

"I appreciate that, Eames," Arthur replied. "Thank you. I know you'll take care of her."

Eames looked at him. "As best as I can. But do you really think she'll be able to let you go and move on like that?"

Arthur didn't say anything for a long moment, just gazing out at the stormy ocean.

"Yes," he said at last. "I have to."

**Review, please**


	29. Running Up That Hill

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**THANKS REVIEWERSSS- cinematherapy: you and me both. Guest: thanks, I love that you check so often! I think Eames is pretty mixed up too, honestly. L: ALL the male characters? I don't agree with that statement... ;) and I don't think they're done, either. Eeyore08: Let's see how Micah's attempt goes, hm? PrettyPlease: updating now! thanks so much! Knuckiducki: Sorry about your sadness, but glad that Arthur's reasons are understandable! Iole17: I think Arthur has some pretty deep self-esteem issues in general, something I've personally reflected onto him from myself, I imagine. But I think it still makes sense with his character. He's only confident with his skills, not with people. recey2010: I'm not into hyperbole unless it's funny... but we'll see.**

**You guys make me want to update. And I think this is my favorite chapter.**

**Chapter title from the song originally by Kate Bush, though I prefer the Placebo version and I think Micah would, too.**

Running Up That Hill

Tuesday, October 18, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Warehouse: Micah

It was almost like they were waiting for an execution. For the sword to fall, the arrow to hit, the bullet to embed.

Micah was sitting beside the PASIV, on one of the long beach chairs in the center of the room. His eyes were locked overhead, at one of the massive fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. It was early morning, the sun partially obscured by gray clouds. Micah watched as a fly appeared, buzzing impatiently around the light. He stared at the fly, thinking of how boring a life like that would be. Always buzzing impatiently, never really getting anywhere.

Footsteps forced Micah to snap out of it. Cobb was approaching him, carrying a walkman and set of headphones. The older man sat on the chair beside Micah's, the only sounds of his shuffling breaking the silence.

It was just the two of them in the warehouse. Yusuf had stepped out to pick up a few things he needed for Ariadne's stitches, which were being removed today. Eames and Ariadne, who Micah assumed were coming together, hadn't arrived yet. Neither had Arthur, but Micah honestly didn't know if Arthur would even come today.

_It's not how I would want to spend one of my last days_, he thought. The fly buzzed again.

"Here." Cobb's voice was quiet and a little hoarse. Micah faced him as the extractor held out the headphones. He reached to take them but stopped when he noticed how the man's hands were shaking.

Micah let his own drop, gripping the chair. He knew what they needed to do—train him some more in preparation for the third level—but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Wasn't there something more important?

He found his voice. "What did you say when he told you what happened to him?"

Cobb sighed, not requiring explanation as to who or what Micah was talking about. "I was speechless. I'd never heard of such a thing, except maybe in the movies. He kept it a secret for a long time. I would never have guessed it."

"Yeah," Micah agreed. "I knew his legs and the water were connected, but I didn't really… I didn't put it together."

"Not many would," Cobb agreed. "Arthur has had a truly difficult life, one I would wish on very few, and certainly not him."

"It's pretty amazing," Micah continued, not really responding to Cobb, but vocalizing what he'd been thinking since the revelations were presented yesterday. "How he's still such a great person. He's a good guy, Dom. He puts others before himself."

Cobb slumped forward suddenly, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders began to shake and Micah realized he was crying.

No, not crying: _sobbing_.

"Jesus Christ," Cobb whispered. "I know, Micah. You're absolutely right. Arthur is wholly unique in how incredible he is. Very few would still be sane and so selfless after that experience. And I fucking threw him away."

Micah couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say, partially because he hated Cobb so much for what he was vocalizing at last.

"I handed him to Browning," Cobb continued. "I threatened the woman he loved so I could get my way. And Arthur will pay for my selfishness with his life. I will get my children back, and he will die. And he's… He's okay with it." He raised his eyes to Micah's, the blue shimmering with tears. "Arthur has been nothing less than a brother to me. My best friend. He was my best man at my wedding, and he's godfather to my children. He's saved my life countless times, taken bullets for me… Eames is right. Arthur and Ariadne are right. I'm the scum of the Earth for doing this to him."

Micah swallowed as Cobb continued to sob. His mouth opened and closed several times, as he struggled to come up with words. He wasn't good with the comforting words. It'd never really been a problem, even with Arthur, because Arthur never sought comfort.

"You should tell him," Micah said at last.

Cobb raised his head. "What?"

"Tell him," Micah repeated. "Tell him what you just told me. And make sure you let him know how sorry you are and how much you love him for everything he's done for you."

"He won't forgive me," Cobb said, shaking his head.

"Probably," Micah agreed. "That would be wishing for a miracle at this point. But he'll be glad to hear what you think of him. I have no idea what he thinks about you these days, but maybe, saving you is just a nice benefit of saving Ariadne." Micah paused. "Because that's the only reason he's doing this. He wants her to live; the rest of us are kind of on our own."

Cobb nodded swiftly. "I know. Makes this all the more unfair. He's so in love with her…"

"But he's convinced she doesn't love him," Micah finished. "Yeah, I know. I kind of want to lock them in a closet together and force them to realize they're supposed to be together." At Cobb's look, he added, "Not anymore though. And I would never do that."

"Sure," Cobb said, chuckling. He looked at the PASIV and ran a hand over his hair. "I can't do this right now. I'm sorry, Micah."

Micah shook his head. "Don't be. I don't really want to go under either." Dreaming had no allure right now. He was too depressed to want to do anything.

The door of the warehouse opened, and Eames and Ariadne walked in. Ariadne looked hardened, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her hands gripping her bag with determination.

After Eames and Arthur had left the warehouse yesterday, Ariadne had thrown herself into work. The change was noticeable and a little alarming. She worked for five hours straight, long after both men had returned. Though many would assume it was just a burst of creative energy, Micah thought otherwise. He was pretty sure the real reason she'd worked so hard and non-stop was because she knew it was all she could do to protect Arthur, to maybe save his life. He'd wanted to grab Arthur by the shoulders and show him the sight and yell, "Look! She's working so hard because she doesn't want you to die! You fool, she loves you!"

But he knew how Arthur would've responded: "Of course she doesn't want me to die. Just because I'm her ex, it doesn't mean she doesn't care at all." Then he would've patted Micah on the arm and walked away, leaving Micah more frustrated than ever.

Back in the present, Micah studied Eames. Neither he nor Arthur had offered up an explanation of where they'd gone or what they'd talked about (they'd been gone for less than an hour). Instead, they were cordial and polite to the other. The good thing was that it looked like they'd repaired their relationship a bit.

Other than that, Micah was more confused than ever.

Eames looked tired this morning, his hair scruffier than normal and his eyes heavy. He wasn't even wearing a dress shirt; instead, it looked like he was wearing a gray sweater with long-sleeves along with khaki pants. He sat down at his desk, while Ariadne reached hers, immediately pulling papers and models from her bag. She cleared her throat, causing everyone to look.

"I'm done," she said with relief. Micah frowned and realized her eyes were surrounded by dark bags; she must've been up all night. "Completely done. The levels are ready to go, all three of them."

Cobb looked happier than he had in days. "That's great news, Ariadne."

She smiled and looked around. Micah thought she was looking for Arthur and was surprised when she asked, "Where's Yusuf?"

"He went out to get stuff for your stitches," Micah replied. "Why?"

"Oh." She frowned. "I wanted to show him the first level, I added some updates to it last night." She shrugged and shuffled paper around her desk. "When's he getting back?"

Cobb checked his watch. "Soon."

"Okay," Ariadne said. "I'll wait to show you the third level then, Edward." Across the room, Eames nodded at her words and returned to his laptop. Micah stared; it was most unlike Eames to not comment on something Ariadne said to him.

_Especially with Arthur's theory in mind and all_, Micah thought to himself. A moment later, he froze.

Was that what Arthur and Eames had talked about yesterday? Ariadne? Micah's mind spun as the puzzle pieces fell into place. That would make sense. He remembered Arthur saying he needed to talk to Eames about something he'd put off for too long… Did that count? It did make sense why he'd chosen to speak to Eames first like that… Micah would have expected Arthur to want to be alone after hearing his past exposed like that, but Arthur had chosen Eames, the last person Micah had expected.

_That has to be it,_ Micah thought. He studied Eames, and wondered what specifically Arthur had told him. It seemed to have caused Eames to back down. In shame, perhaps?

Or biding his time?

Micah hoped the former thought was correct. He didn't want Eames to be that low of a human being.

The door of the warehouse opened again, but it was Arthur who entered. He was dressed as formally as he always looked, his clothes and hair impeccable. He certainly didn't look like a man whose life was numbered in hours.

He raised his eyebrows in greeting (everyone was staring at him, expressions ranging from grief to anxiety to sadness to speechlessness) and walked to where Micah and Cobb were sitting. Arthur pulled off his shoulder bag and sat down next to Micah.

"Ariadne," he said, his voice quiet and smooth. "I ran into Yusuf outside. He has to run and pick up an order at the post office, so he asked if I would take out your stitches." As he spoke, he revealed various medical tools from his bag, lining them up neatly on the table in front of him.

Micah glanced at Ariadne, who swallowed but nodded, getting to her feet. She walked over to Arthur, looking nervous.

He glanced at her. "You'll have to take off your shirt."

She nodded again, pulling her knitted sweater over her head without any hesitation. Micah automatically blushed, getting to his feet and attempting to hurry after Cobb.

"Micah," Arthur called. "Can you get a warm towel for me?"

"Okay," Micah muttered. He shuffled off to the cabinet and took a towel, running it under warm water before returning to the center of the room.

Ariadne was lying on her back on one of the long beach chairs, her arms resting at her sides. She'd already tugged down her black pencil skirt a little, exposing the end of the long line of stitches. Arthur was sitting beside her hip, on her right side, drenching a pair of small scissors in cleaning alcohol.

"Thanks," he said as Micah passed him the towel. Arthur raised his eyes to look at Ariadne, who was watching him.

"This won't take long," he told her. "But it'll feel a little odd. Just stay still."

She nodded. "Got it."

Micah watched as Arthur studied the ending of the stitches at her hip. He reached forward and very gently took one of the knots there, holding it up. Ariadne bit her lip, but she didn't seem to be in pain; just maybe uncomfortable. Arthur didn't look at her. Instead, he clipped the knot neatly with the scissors, quickly seizing its opposite twin.

Micah stared, entranced, as Arthur slowly began to unwind the long string of Ariadne's stitches from the long cut. The point man's fingers were slow and gentle, his eyes focused only on his work as he ran his hands from Ariadne's hip up to just under her right breast.

The whole process barely took five minutes. And then Arthur was straightening, shoving the long thread at Micah, who realized he was supposed to take it. He did and watched as Arthur gently pressed the towel to Ariadne's scar.

"It's clean," he told her softly. "It looks great."

She grimaced. "I doubt that."

"Don't," Arthur replied. "Yusuf is brilliant. This was done very neatly." He removed the towel and reached for a clean new bandage, leaning across Ariadne to do so. Micah couldn't help but notice how Ariadne stiffened, her eyes locked on Arthur's face. He remained impassive and casual, sitting up again and firmly placing the bandage around her scar.

"Leave it on for a couple days," he advised her. "I'd wait five days before taking it off. The scar is temporary; it'll fade soon. You won't even remember where it is one day. It shouldn't hurt anymore, so make sure to tell Yusuf if it does. He'll check it out and maybe give you something for the pain."

It hit Micah and Ariadne at the same time that the reason Arthur suggested Yusuf was because Arthur wasn't planning to be around at the time Ariadne's scar hurt.

Ariadne blinked furiously. "Okay. Thank you, Arthur."

He smiled at her, a warm smile that didn't reveal any fear about the upcoming days. "You're welcome, Ariadne."

Micah's eyes flickered to Ariadne, who looked like she was trying to say something. But Arthur got to his feet, taking the towel with him and going to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him.

Ariadne watched him go, and Micah felt more frustrated than ever at her expression.

"Jesus," he muttered. "Just tell him."

He blushed furiously when he realized Ariadne had heard him. Luckily, Cobb and Eames hadn't; he could hear them having a discussion by Eames' desk. Ariadne looked at Micah, and she looked sorrowful.

"It's not that easy," she whispered.

"The man is going to die in two days," Micah stressed, ignoring how Ariadne's eyes closed. "Tell him you forgive him and that you love him. Don't waste this time, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Ariadne studied him, her head cocked to the side. "Arthur's right. We don't give you enough credit."

"Yeah?" Micah sighed. "Prove that by listening to me."

The door of the bathroom opened, and Arthur reappeared. He was looking at his watch, a thoughtful look on his face. Micah got to his feet, giving Ariadne a meaningful look.

_Do it now._

He'd taken one step away when Arthur spoke: "Micah?"

That stopped Micah. He turned, eyebrow raised. "Yeah, Arthur?"

"What are you doing right now?"

"Um…" Micah looked at Cobb, who was still talking to Eames. He shrugged, turning back to Arthur. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess."

Arthur nodded. "Good. Do you think you could spare a couple hours with me?"

Micah gaped at Arthur, shocked. He was pretty sure this was the first time Arthur had asked him to hang out with him, just the two of them. It sounded like something a friend would say.

"I… Yeah, definitely," Micah said.

Arthur actually smiled. "Excellent. Grab your coat and we'll go." He looked over at Cobb, who'd stopped talking to Eames and had listened to the exchange. "Micah and I will be back later."

"Alright," Cobb said hesitantly. "Er… Where are you going?"

"Huntington Beach," Arthur replied.

"For what?"

Arthur smirked. "That's something I'll discuss with Micah. Like I said: we'll be back later."

Cobb didn't object, not that Micah really expected him to. Aside from the fact he didn't control and own Arthur, he doubted anyone would try to stop a man who was going to die in two days from doing whatever he wanted to.

Micah followed Arthur out of the warehouse. It was only when he had his hand on the passenger door of the Mercedes did he realize Ariadne had never gotten to talk to Arthur. He hesitated.

Arthur noticed, pausing with one foot in the car. "Are you still coming?"

_Screw it_, Micah thought. It didn't seem like Ariadne really wanted to tell Arthur anyway. "Yeah, I am." They got into the car and Arthur pulled out onto the highway.

They rolled down the windows, letting the air stream in, even though it was only about 75 degrees Fahrenheit, which was considered cold for Los Angeles. Micah leaned his elbow against the window ledge, enjoying the air, while Arthur cruised with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. Micah routinely glanced at the point man, surprised and saddened by how peaceful the point man looked, his auburn eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

"Arthur," he said. "What's in Huntington Beach?"

"Hm," Arthur replied. "How much do you know about Huntington Beach?"

Micah shrugged. "Nothing. I assume it's a beach in L.A.?"

"Not quite," Arthur said. "It's a city about forty miles outside of L.A. And it is often referred to as Surf City."

"Wait…" Micah said slowly, the wheels turning.

Arthur grinned. "That's right. We're going surfing."

"We?" Micah repeated. "Arthur, I don't know how to surf!"

"That's okay," Arthur said. "I do. I'll teach you." He looked at Micah. "Remember what I told you: I won't let you drown."

Micah grimaced. "Why are we surfing?"

"Because," Arthur said. His voice was softer and less carefree now. "Because this is one of my last days on this planet, and I would like to spend it by doing something I enjoyed greatly while growing up in California but haven't gotten to do in over a decade. And I brought you because I thought you would enjoy it the most. You don't have to surf."

"No," Micah said quickly. He was glad he'd randomly chosen to wear contacts and not glasses. "I want to."

Arthur smiled. "That's what I thought. You'll have a good time, Micah."

The rest of the car ride was spend mostly in silence, with the occasional comment about the landscape. Micah learned Arthur had grown up in a small town called Oceanside, and that he'd visited his mother, who still lived there, a few days previously. He'd also reconciled with his twin brother, who was aware of the job and the expected outcome.

"And he's not, you know, happy about it," Arthur said in an alarmingly matter-of-fact tone. "But he's accepted my decision. That's something I really admire about Adam. He can respect the decisions of others without much fuss." He looked at Micah. "We're different that way."

At some point, Arthur turned on the radio, and they listened to classic rock. Micah learned more about Arthur's childhood through the music he knew the lyrics to.

"I'm a firm believer that Cream was the best band ever," Arthur said seriously, as they listened to the closing chords of 'I Feel Free.' "If I could see any band live, that would be them. They were brilliant." He smiled as Eric Clapton's 'After Midnight' came on. "But I've seen this man live, and I guess that's one third of the job done."

"Do you go to concerts a lot?" Micah wondered.

"Not a lot, no," Arthur said. "Because concerts usually require advance planning; tickets, and all. But Ariadne and I managed to see a couple shows last year in Paris."

They reached a beach in Huntington Beach, which Micah was surprised to see was crowded with people. He climbed out of the car but stopped when he saw that Arthur seemed to be stripping, tossing off his shoes and socks and shoving them into the car.

"What are you doing?" Micah asked.

Arthur smirked. "I'm not about to walk on a beach like this." He gestured to his outfit. Micah watched as he pulled off his suit jacket, along with his vest and tie. Micah followed his lead, pulling off his jacket and sneakers, but leaving his t-shirt and jeans on. Arthur waited for him, still wearing his white dress shirt and black pants.

"Come on," he said, stepping onto the sand bare foot.

Micah hurried after Arthur, aware of the stares the point man drew; he certainly didn't look like he belonged there, even with his tie and vest gone. Arthur seemed oblivious to this, going straight to a shop that looked like a serious cliché to Micah, as it was called 'Surf Shack' and was colored brightly with suns and cartoon-like waves. He glanced at the ocean; the waves did look huge today.

Arthur spoke quickly to the attendant, saying phrases and comments that were foreign to Micah. The attendant understood them, and recognized that Arthur was a professional who meant business.

That didn't stop Micah's jaw from dropping when Arthur presented him with a wetsuit.

"You're kidding."

Arthur laughed at Micah's expression. "Not unless you want to freeze. September through November is the best time of the year to surf in Southern California, even though the water's cold." He waited for Micah to take the wetsuit, still grudgingly.

Micah still wasn't sold on the idea and was even less enthusiastic after he pulled the wetsuit on. Even if he was about as skinny, he wasn't nearly as well-built as Arthur; the stares the point man was now receiving were quite different. He hesitated as Arthur strolled towards the ocean.

"Arthur," he said slowly. Arthur turned. Micah raised his arms. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Arthur nodded. "I know. But do you trust me?"

He looked at Micah, his auburn eyes clear and calm. And Micah felt like their whole time knowing the other, every little exchange and lesson given, came down to this moment. And he found the answer came readily to his lips.

"Yeah."

Even though he'd almost been drowned by this man, even though he doubted his sanity… It was true. He'd trusted Arthur the day he'd met him, and he still did now.

Arthur smiled and turned back to the ocean. With some hesitation and holding his surfboard tightly, Micah followed.

He should've known to never doubt Arthur as a teacher. He was every bit as patient and tactful as he'd been when teaching Micah how to fight, shoot, move around the dream world.

"I know you have balance," Arthur said calmly, as Micah fell into the ocean again.

Spluttering, Micah wiped his eyes. "Why?"

Arthur smirked. "Because you're always the last to fall when the dream collapses."

And as it turned out, Arthur was right. Before too long, Micah was standing on his own, and making it over small waves. Arthur stayed with him, commenting and offering further guidance, until he nodded his head.

"I think you're ready to go a little bigger."

'A little bigger' turned out to be pretty fricking huge, in Micah's opinion. He followed Arthur further out to sea, to the bigger waves. And even as he fell down (almost constantly) he kept trying, because it was worth it just to see the joy on Arthur's face.

He finally looked younger than thirty, the way his eyes shone, his hair flopped over his face and his smile widened. Micah watched in amazement as Arthur rode the waves like a professional, his easy stance and unwavering balance making it look effortless. He managed the biggest waves with ease, causing other surfers (many younger) to comment and praise him for this. Rather than feeling jealous, Micah felt only wonder. He was like a new man.

They surfed for hours, becoming more and more reckless and laughing almost non-stop. They drifted along the coast, until Micah felt his arms would fall off from paddling and his legs felt like jelly. When they reached a relatively calm section of beach, he flopped on his stomach on the board, hanging in the water. Arthur, beside him as he'd been all day, followed his example, letting his arms hang in the water.

He was still smiling. "Thank you, Micah."

"No, thank you," Micah said. "You taught me and everything."

"But you agreed," Arthur reminded him. He sighed, bring his arms in front of him and crossing them, resting his head on them. His hair was darker with water, and looked longer, hanging around his face. Arthur closed his eyes. "I'm glad I got to do this."

"I wish this wasn't your last time," Micah whispered.

"Me too," Arthur agreed.

Micah shifted awkwardly. "It doesn't have to be."

Arthur opened his eyes, fixing Micah with a calm stare. "But it will be." Micah looked away and Arthur spoke again. "Micah. Look at me."

Micah turned back, letting his gaze meet Arthur's. The point man's face was perfectly calm, his skin pale in the light and unblemished. The lines that usually marred his forehead were gone, he was so relaxed. And in his eyes was something that could only be described as peace.

"Do I look upset?" Arthur whispered. "Do I look depressed? Angry? Scared?"

Micah shook his head. "No."

"How do I look?"

"Peaceful," Micah said honestly. "Almost happy."

Arthur nodded, still resting his head on his arms. "Yes. And I am those things. I'm ready, Micah. Don't pity me for dying."

"Don't you wish for more time?" Micah asked.

Arthur shrugged. "Not really. I feel like I've lived for twice as long as my physical age suggests. That's a perfectly respectable amount of time. I've been everywhere, gotten to do almost everything I've ever wanted to…"

"What will you not do?"

Even though he must've anticipated it, Arthur still looked disappointed at the question. "I'll never have gotten married. Or have children. I've also always wanted to skydive, like you…" He trailed off, his face brightening as he realized something. "Assuming someone recovers my body and follows my wishes, have Ariadne give you some of my ashes when you go. Then throw me out the plane with you."

Micah had to laugh. "Okay. Will she let me?"

"Sure. She won't know what to do with me anyway."

"You still want her to have your ashes?"

Arthur nodded. "I don't want to be with anyone else. But I will be dead; she can toss me out the window if she so desires to. I can't stop her, and I don't really think I'll care."

"Is your biggest regret still not telling your father you loved him, and that you would avenge him?" Micah asked quietly.

Arthur met his eyes, and they were sorrowful. "No. I wish I'd married her. So she'd be forced to remember me."

"Why didn't you?" Micah wondered. "A year's a pretty long time to date."

"You're young, that's why you say that," Arthur said. But he grimaced, acknowledging the truth of Micah's words. "But you're also right. And I did suggest marriage last summer. She told me she wanted to wait; she's the same age as you. And I agreed, because I thought she was right." He lifted his head, running his hands over his wet hair. "But I wish I'd convinced her otherwise now."

"What happens to all your stuff?" Micah wondered. "Your money, your place in Paris…"

"It'll all go to her," Arthur said. "I've got a very good lawyer who understands that I want her to get everything, and has high enough contacts in the French government to bypass some of their other inheritance laws. Everything should work out."

Micah nodded. "Of course you have a will."

Arthur smiled. "Everyone should have a will. You never know."

"If you could've chosen how to die," Micah murmured. "How would that have happened?"

"I'd be ninety-seven," Arthur replied softly. "And Ariadne would be ninety, and one night, we'd go to sleep. And we wouldn't wake up. Not attached to a PASIV, or anything; just naturally."

"That sounds nice," Micah breathed.

"Highly improbable, but a man can dream." Arthur looked over at Micah, his face still so amazingly peaceful.

"I'm glad Cobb found you," he whispered. "Because he is going to need you."

Micah nodded. "I know. He's really upset about losing you. You might not believe it, but it's true."

"No, no," Arthur interrupted, shaking his head. "I didn't mean he was going to need you to help him get past my death. His children will be more than enough to help him through that. Yes, he also needed me when Mal died, but I'm just his friend; his children will be plenty."

Micah doubted this, but was too curious to press. "What did you mean, then?"

Arthur fixed him with his gaze. He almost looked incredulous.

"You've known this since the beginning," he murmured. "Micah, Cobb and I went to Harvard because we were looking for a new me."

Micah nodded slowly. "Yeah…"

"Isn't it obvious?" Arthur asked. "Micah, you are my replacement."

There was a silence, broken only by the waves lapping against their surfboards, and the wind drying their hair. Micah blinked furiously, struggling to process what Arthur was trying to tell him.

"Cobb doesn't need a replacement," he said. "He's getting out of the business."

"But Eames isn't," Arthur murmured. "Yusuf isn't. Ariadne might not, I don't know. They will all still need a point man, and they know people who will need a point man. If you say that you were trained by me—which you were—you will instantly be in demand globally. I've said this before, as have Cobb and Eames: I'm the best at what I do. Dream thieves will be itching to find my successor."

Micah was speechless. He stared at Arthur, filled with fear, anxiety and utter stupefy.

"It's a pretty good introduction to the world of shared dreaming," Arthur said.

"Shit," Micah whispered. "Arthur, I… I can't replace you. You're one-of-a-kind. I'm nowhere near as brave, or smart, or… Just good at it."

"Maybe not now," Arthur conceded. "But you will be. Don't doubt yourself, Micah. I might've in the beginning, but I learned my lesson. You are a force to be reckoned with. You're determined, a fast learner, and you're dependable. That's all they need in a point man."

Micah swallowed. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Arthur said. "You don't even have to do any of it. You can leave the dream world and never come back. I'm just telling you this so you'll know it's always an option." He smiled. "Believe it or not, but I don't regret any of my time in the dream world. It's been the best thing my life could offer, and I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't give it up. Don't give up dreaming just because I died."

Micah felt tears stinging his eyes. "I don't understand you. How can you be so calm about this?"

"I'm ready."

"Jesus Christ," Micah choked, letting himself cry without abandon, his sniffles and his shaking disturbing the water. He could barely look at Arthur, whose face was full of sympathy. "I've known you for two weeks, and you've killed me in a dream and half-drowned me in real life, but I'm crying because you're going to die. How is that possible?"

Arthur smiled. "I grow on people."

"Still," Micah sniffled. "That's not a good enough reason."

"I think…" Arthur paused and Micah looked at him, signaling for him to continue. "I think it might be because I remind you of Seth."

And it was true, Micah realized. Arthur did remind him of Seth, the best friend he'd given up, cast aside, only for him to die. He was still trying to save Seth; through Arthur, a man who did not want to be saved.

"God, I never had to do this," Micah croaked. "I never had to say goodbye to him, and now I have to say goodbye to you…"

"Micah. Look at me."

He did, forcing himself to again. Arthur faced him with clear eyes.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm okay. I'm ready to go, Micah. Seth was leaving a dark place for somewhere better, and so am I. Remember that we both wanted this."

Micah cried more. "Fuck, Arthur. I can't believe you have to comfort me. I'm not the one who's going to die. I feel like I need to do something for you."

"Make sure Ariadne survives the third level," Arthur said. "You can do that for me."

"Okay," Micah said. He regained his composure, happy to have a task, a last request from Arthur. "I will."

"Thank you, Micah." Arthur straightened. "Let's go back."

They paddled back to shore, in sync with the other. Micah felt dazed as he returned the surfboard and changed back into his regular clothes. He found Arthur waiting for him, standing and watching the ocean, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back to his elbows. His arms were marred by needle pricks, but he didn't mind. He was just enjoying the sunlight.

Arthur heard Micah coming and smiled, pulling his feet from the sand. He beckoned and Micah followed him to the car.

"I was thinking," Arthur said, pausing in front of the car. The ocean framed him. With his sunglasses on, Micah realized that Arthur really did fit in; he was a true Californian. "I was thinking we could go to this ice cream place my brother and I always went to after we surfed here."

"Okay," Micah murmured. Unable to help himself, he stepped forward and hugged Arthur.

He could feel Arthur's surprise, but was relieved when he felt the point man's arms come around him, returning the embrace. They were almost the same height (Micah barely taller) and in that moment, Micah felt like they could've been brothers. Even though they looked so different and had completely opposite lives; they were bound by their understanding of the other, and of what the future held.

And the fact that today, Arthur had essentially approved Micah succeeding him.

"Thank you," Micah whispered. "For everything."

"You're welcome," Arthur replied softly. "Everything is going to be okay, Micah."

"I know." Micah looked at him as Arthur released him, taking a step back. Micah still gripped the older man's shoulders, and Arthur clasped the back of Micah's neck in a friendly brotherly gesture.

He jerked his head at the car. "Let's get ice cream."

**Review, please**


	30. Flames

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Love and gratitude to the reviewers- _Shanynde_: wow, you reviewed fast! And I think you'll be satisfied with this chapter. ;) _L_: thanks! and gosh, I just got back from New York, and I missed the Pacific like you wouldn't believe, I get the feeling! _Nina.4444_: thank you! I bet you'll like this chapter, haha. :D _LeslieSophia_: aww I'm blushing with your praise! _Iole17_: I like that chapter a lot too, it was very easy to write. And yes, Cobb has been feeling guilt for a while, but the epiphany that Arthur is planning to die is really ruining him; he'll have to face Arthur at some point. _cinematherapy_: huh, I haven't seen that movie, but I'll go look it up. _Eeyore08_: Ahh I'm so happy you love Micah! I do, too. :) And I'm glad you enjoyed their conversation. _Knuckiducki_: I do feel sorry for Cobb too, just because I can't imagine feeling that guilt. Haha, thanks for the support! _In. Blue. 85_: Yay for the Micah love! And they will talk very soon... ;)**

**A couple reviewers asked, but we've got eight chapters (including this one) to go.**

**Andddd I think some of you might've been waiting for this chapter for a while... ;) hope you like it.**

**Chapter title from the song by VAST, pretty much perfect for this chapter.**

Flames

Wednesday, October 19, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Kyoto Grand: Ariadne

Nothing on the television was interesting Ariadne.

She flipped randomly, going from channel to channel, reality show to news program, without paying much attention. It was almost ten o'clock at night, and her eyelids felt heavy. She was tired, but also too keyed up to sleep.

They would be beginning the job in under twelve hours.

She was sitting in the living room of Eames' suite, her bare feet on the table in front of her, a cup of coffee in her hand. Her hair hung around her shoulders, slightly damp; she'd taken a shower earlier. She had already dressed for sleep, in a purple tank top and matching pajama pants.

Eames appeared from the kitchen. He'd also changed, wearing flannel and a green t-shirt. He carried a cup of tea.

"Found anything yet?" He asked, sitting next to her on the couch.

She shook her head. "Not really, unless you're interested in keeping up with the Kardashians."

He grimaced. "Not really my thing, love."

"I figured," she said. Not caring, she passed him the remote, settling herself deeper into the cushions.

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Eames suggested. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

It felt like her heart had jumped into her throat. "I know."

Eames noticed the way her voice shook. He muted the television—Anderson Cooper covering some natural disaster Ariadne couldn't bring herself to be concerned about—and turned to her.

"Ariadne…"

"I know," she repeated.

Eames shook his head. "I don't think you do. He's downstairs, love. Probably doing the same thing we are now."

She found that hard to believe. "I bet Micah's with him."

"He's not. I got here later than you, remember? I met Micah on the elevator. Arthur kicked him out of his room."

Ariadne stared at Eames, amazed. "He's alone?"

Eames looked sad. "He's always alone, Ari. Or at least, he thinks he is. It only makes sense that…"

His voice trailed off, and Ariadne knew what he'd almost said: _It only makes sense that he spends the last night of his life alone._

She swallowed. "Edward, he's going to die tomorrow."

"Yes," Eames said, not even denying this, not even trying to comfort her with falsities and untrue statements meant to reassure her.

"How long has he been planning on this?"

She had to know. How long had Arthur been planning to die? Before they fought, before she lost him, before they broke each other's heart?

Eames sighed. "I can't say for sure. But he said Miles knows. So I would hazard a guess at a while." Ariadne stared at him in shock. "Are you really surprised?" Eames pressed. "This is Arthur. He's always planning."

"He never told me," she whispered.

"He didn't want you to know," Eames said. "He thought you'd be happier if you didn't…" He took a deep breath, and she was startled by the emotion in his face.

"I have a confession to make," he murmured.

She looked at him. "Yes?"

"After Browning came to the warehouse," Eames said. "Arthur and I took a drive. And we talked about something. I don't know if he wanted you to know, but at this point, I expect it doesn't matter." He looked at her, his blue eyes oddly watery. "We talked about _you_, Ari."

Ariadne stared. "What about me?"

"Arthur is a very smart and noble man," Eames murmured. "He told me he knew something about me, something I've been trying to ignore: that I think I love you."

"What?" She croaked. _Arthur was right…_

Eames nodded. "It's been a long time coming, and a bit hard for me to fathom. But it's true. I... I love you, Ariadne."

He shook his head and closed his eyes, continuing his confession. "And I think that's why I've been so awful to Arthur. I've been jealous. I've been watching you two fall apart, and being secretly pleased. I've said things to break you apart even more, things I am not proud of… I made you doubt his love."

"What?" Her skin felt like ice, the horror spreading through her.

Eames looked at her, his face full of apologies. "He loves you, Ariadne. Still. More than anything in his life, more than his life. You're the reason he can accept death; he wants to die so you won't have to. He told me that you are the love of his life, that he fell in love with you the moment he saw you, and that he knew right then that you were it for him. But he doesn't think you love him. He is firm in that. Yet he will still die for you tomorrow, just so you don't have to. It doesn't matter to him whether his love is reciprocated."

And she remembered being in the dream with Arthur a few days ago, "_Quick, give me a kiss_"…And waking up, and kissing him on her desk, feeling him everywhere, how he looked at her, how she'd thought maybe he still loved her…

_He did._

"Oh my God," she gasped, rocked by the revelation.

"He just wants you to be happy," Eames said, speaking more quickly now. "Even if he thinks you don't love him, or that you forgive him for everything he's done in the past two weeks. He even told me that… If, after he's dead, you decide you want _me_… He told me I'd better love you like I never loved Isabel, because only then will I love you a fraction of how he did."

She was crying openly now, her tears streaming, her sobs coming out of her. Her mind was racing, putting the pieces of the last weeks, the last days into place...

"How could you do this to me?" She demanded brokenly.

"I'm sorry," Eames croaked. "I know now that I should've been honest, I should've forced you to see that he never left you…"

_"I never left… I'm always with you…"_

She got to her feet, her hands shaking.

"It's my fault too," she realized. "I pushed him away. And he let me, because he thought I would be happier without him…"

_"Ari, if he makes you happy, I think you should try to be with him. He's a strong man," Arthur smiled sadly and kissed her jaw. "But I'm not going to think anyone is good enough for you."_

"I don't deserve him," she whispered.

Eames shook his head. "No, I think you do. And I also know this for sure: he deserves to have you now. While he's still alive."

She didn't need Eames to tell her that. "I have to go." She didn't even go to her room to grab shoes or a coat. She ran to the door of the hotel room, throwing it open without giving Eames a farewell.

He didn't deserve it anyway.

Ariadne ran to the stairs, knowing the elevator was too slow. She hurried down a flight, bursting onto the floor below theirs. She looked up and down the corridor, her mind whirring as it tried to remember which way was Arthur's room. She finally remembered and tore down it, her bare feet squishing into the carpet.

She knew she was a mess, tears streaming down her face, but she kept going. She couldn't believe how stupid she was, and how much time she'd wasted. _How did I ever doubt you_? She thought to herself. But she knew the answer: she and Arthur were both too stubborn, too insecure, too terrified that the person they loved the most didn't love them anymore, to stop and ask the questions.

_So he really believed I didn't love him... But that's insane!_

She reached his door and hesitated briefly in front of it. She tried to think, tried to come up with something to say, some explanation…

Her fist pounded the door instead.

Ariadne waited on tenterhooks, her feet tapping up and down on the floor in anxiety. She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to find support in her own hug. She kept her eyes on the door, at the level Arthur's face would be…

The door opened a moment later.

He hadn't changed yet, though he was significantly less formal. His feet were bare, but he was still wearing black dress pants and a white dress shirt, though his shirt was loose, the first couple buttons undone and the sleeves rolled back. His hair was lankier, the gel coming loose.

He blinked. "This is a surprise."

She swallowed. "I'm an idiot."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I disagree. Judging from the levels you've created-" (they'd visited the entire dream earlier that day) "-You're nothing short of brilliant."

Ariadne half-laughed, but her tears and sadness prevented her from being pleased by his compliment. Arthur looked at her, concerned.

"No," she said. "I thought you didn't love me."

"Hm." He leaned against the doorframe, running a hand through his hair. "Well, yes. If you think I don't love you then, yes, you're an idiot. I love you more than anything, Ariadne."

"I'm sorry," Ariadne croaked. "Oh, God, Arthur, I'm so sorry. I've broken your heart for nothing. I couldn't see that you were just trying to do what was best for me, that you've been protecting me all along. Instead, all I've done-"

She was forced to stop speaking when Arthur seized her, picking her up and pulling her inside. She heard the door slam and felt her back press against it. She was staring into his eyes, and they were dark.

"-Is push you away," she finished, breathlessly.

Arthur took a deep breath and pressed his forehead against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her feet dangling above the ground as he used his arms and the leverage provided by the door to hold her up.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered. "I didn't fight for you. And I pushed you away, too. I convinced myself that you were better off without me, that maybe, if I no longer needed you, everything would be okay. And it just screwed everything up instead." He looked at her. "Please forgive me."

"I forgive you," she murmured. "Do you forgive me?"

He nodded. "Always."

And then he was kissing her, kissing her desperately, like this was their last kiss. And she was kissing him back, winding her fingers in his hair and hanging on to him like he was her lifeline.

She found enough space against the door to pull her face back, to look in his eyes, which had never been more lovely. "I love you."

His face seemed to crumple, but his arms only tightened. "You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you say that. I love you too, you frustrating, heartbreaking, beautiful girl."

Ariadne laughed and kissed him. But this kiss was lighter, less demanding, yet somehow more intimate.

"I think we've wasted enough time," she told him softly.

He kissed her nose. "You've read my mind."

She laughed when he swooped her up in his arms, carrying her bridal-style. She leaned against his shoulder, pressing her face into his neck and inhaling that scent she knew so well, the scent of him that came to mean home to her.

Suddenly, they were in his room, which seemed so empty with the bed made and the light off…

And he was laying her down on the generic comforter, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing him to stay with her…

And his eyes were light and almost golden, his arms wrapped under her back, his lips pressing against hers…

"I missed you," she whispered.

"Ssh," he replied, his voice equally as quiet. "Don't think about that. We're together now."

She felt the tears coming and she couldn't stop them. He felt the water against his face, pressed so close to hers, and leaned back.

Ariadne shook her head desperately, gripping his arms. "For how long?"

"For tonight," he said softly.

"I don't want just tonight," she gasped as her sobs came. "I want you for the rest of my life…"

He shook his head. "I can't give you that." He leaned down and kissed her delicately, his body hovering over hers, like she was porcelain and could break at any moment. She wasn't sure about her body, but that was certainly the state of her heart.

"But I'll give you this," he continued, peppering her face with light kisses. "We'll be together for the rest of my life."

Arthur's hands were under her shirt, and she couldn't stop crying. She gripped his shirt, clutching the familiar material like she could force him to stay.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered.

"Look at me."

Ariadne forced her eyes to meet his. His body was pressed against hers, his bare feet brushing her legs. Arthur looked serious and calm as he wrapped his hand around her face.

"Look at me," he repeated. "I love you, and I will be with you for as long as I can. I always have. I don't care how long that is, and it doesn't matter. As long as-"

"We're together," she finished.

He nodded. "Let me love you," he said softly. He kissed her, pressing her into the bed as he did so, and her hands hugged his waist, messing up his shirt. "Love me," he added, almost as an after-thought.

She swallowed, trying to force her tears away. "Always," she said, taking his common line.

And he was everywhere then, kissing her desperately. And she was doing her best to respond with as much desperation and passion as him, trying so hard to convey how she felt exactly the same, how she'd missed him so much, how her heart suddenly felt whole again with him.

Even though it'd really always been his.

Her shirt vanished at some point, revealing the thick bandage that covered her still-healing scar. Arthur treated her scar like it was the most fragile and breakable thing he'd ever encountered. His lips brushed past the skin around it, returning to her face.

"I'll be careful," he promised her.

"I trust you," was all she said.

With the rest of their clothes gone, and it was just them, Ariadne finally began to realize just how lonely and broken she'd been without Arthur. The days sleeping in her own bed had been a self-induced solitude, those hours she'd laid awake just thinking about him and wondering if he'd been thinking about her…

"I love you, I love you," she whispered, making the phrase a mantra.

He kissed her furiously, as if he could take the words away from her, take away her fear and her terror. "I know," he said into her mouth, and when she felt his tears, she broke.

So afterward, when her body felt so tired but worshipped, she pressed herself against him, laying her head on his chest as his arms wound around her. His nose inhaled deeply, resting on her hair. She could feel his hand playing with her hair, resting on her back.

"Is there any way?" She asked. She had to.

"I don't think so," he replied softly. "Browning sees me as the biggest threat; which he should."

She cried more, burying her face into his chest, her tears leaving streaks along it. "There's so much we never got to do…"

"Like what?"

"I wanted to marry you," she whispered, resting her arm next to her face, the palm resting over his heart, which beat beneath it. "I wanted to have children with you, I wanted to grow old with you…"

She felt his lips in her hair. "I wanted all those things, too."

"How can I move past this?" She demanded. "How can I live without you now? Knowing what we had…" She shifted, moving her face to look at his, resting against the pillows behind him. His eyes looked dark but alert. "Arthur, I thought I was done looking. I thought you were it for me."

"I know," he said. "But I want you to be happy, and I want you to know that if that means you find another man, and marry him, and have children with him… That I'm okay with it."

"Even if it's Eames?"

His hand stilled on her back, but he nodded. "Even if it's Eames."

"I don't love him," she whispered. "I've only loved you. This entire time, never him… So when you asked me, a few days ago… I responded like that because I was so surprised."

"But I was right," Arthur replied brokenly. "He loves you."

"He told me."

"He did?" Arthur looked amazed. "I didn't see that coming. When?"

Ariadne sighed. "Earlier. I was feeling utterly hopeless, and I didn't know what to do or say, or how to tell you… And Eames told me what you two talked about a couple days ago."

"I see."

"Are you mad?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I'm surprised… What exactly did he say we talked about?"

"You still loved me," Ariadne murmured. "And that you said all these nice things about me…"

Arthur smiled, nodding his head. He slid down a little, so he faced Ariadne. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his fingers brushing the top of her arm while he took her hand in his.

"There are certain things I want to tell you," he said. "Now, before it's too late."

She nodded, taking a deep breath.

"I want you to know," Arthur said. "That you're the love of my life. That I wouldn't change a thing. That this past year with you has been priceless and the best time of my life. I've never regretted loving you. I won't regret it tomorrow either."

"Arthur," she croaked, crying furiously. She cried more when she saw Arthur was losing it as well, gripping her shoulder and her hand tightly. "You're the love of my life, too…"

But he shook his head. "No. I'm a blip, a footnote…"

"You stupid man," she snapped. "You're not a fucking blip. You're so much more than that. You're dying for me, for crying out loud!"

He smiled and leaned in, kissing her tightly, winding his hand through the hair at the back of her head in a way that was almost painful, but that Ariadne wouldn't give up for anything.

"I hope I'm not the love of your life," Arthur said, his breathing rough and uneven. "Move on, be happy… You're so young, Ari."

"So are you!"

"But I don't have the rest of my life to look forward to," he reminded her gently.

"Arthur," she breathed. "When did you decide to do this?"

He sighed. "In Paris. The day I went to Paris Descartes to tell Geneviève I was leaving. I ran into Miles, and I asked him to keep an eye on you if I didn't make it back. He agreed." He hesitated but spoke again. "You should probably know all this, I guess. Eames and Micah are prepared for tomorrow. Micah can help you on the third level, and Eames… Eames will get you out of the power plant and he'll go with you to Paris."

She stared at him, struggling to understand. "In Paris... That was weeks ago!"

"Ariadne…" He sighed, considering his words. "You haven't been in the business of shared dreaming long enough to recognize a lost cause. I can. I knew I had to do all I can to make sure you make it out okay…"

"I'm not going to make it out okay!" She snapped, clenching her fists angrily but managing to resist the urge to hit his chest with them. "Because you're going to be dead, and I'm going to be alone, and you're asking me to leave you behind while I go back to Paris, and I can't-"

She was forced to stop talking when Arthur kissed her urgently, moving so that he was once again perched over her. He slowed the kiss down when Ariadne had wrapped her arms around his back.

She opened her eyes when his lips moved around her face, kissing every part of her he could touch.

"You can," he whispered. She swallowed, knotting her hands together behind his back, like that would be strong enough to keep him there. "And you will. For me."

"Please," she croaked. "I can't lose you, don't make me…"

He kissed her strongly, and she could feel the tears on his face, but she had no way of knowing if they were his or hers, or at this point, where she ended and he began.

"_Breathe_," he said softly. "Breathe, Ariadne. That's all I want you to do, that's the last thing I will ask of you. Breathe for me."

He took a deep breath, and she found herself following his lead, looking deeply into his auburn eyes, trying to convince herself that this was all she needed.

Arthur smiled, wrapping his hand around her face. "Good girl. Remember that. Okay, love?"

"Promise me something."

"Yes?"

She took another deep breath, and placed her own hands on either side of his face. "Tomorrow. Promise me that you will try. That you won't just lay down and let them kill you. Try to survive."

He smiled even more brightly, a smile that was so gorgeous and loving, Ariadne wanted to cry more.

"I will," he promised. "I'll try."

And then he was kissing her again, and his hands were wandering lower and Ariadne allowed herself to lose what was left of her in him all over again.

**Review, please**


	31. Acts of Man

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**To the REVIEWERS, ALL MY LOVE- _Shanynde_: Immediate review again! awesome. Thanks friend. _In. Blue. 85_: Oh gosh did you cry?! Wow! I feel pretty sorry for Eames too. Thanks for the review; darling, I like it. _L_: Thanks! _While_: Yay you're back! Haha, Arthur thinks like a woman; the Arthur of this story is an awful lot like me, so yeah, I see how you're getting that vibe. I can't wait for you to read the others! _Eeyore08_: The footnote part... It's such an interesting way to put it, I'm glad you thought it was good too. And yes, seven chapters (including this one) left! _Knuckiducki_: Thanks so much! That's so neat you thought of "Flames." The chapter was originally "Anywhere" from the Evanescence song but I liked "Flames" more.**

**ONTO THE JOB! (At last, haha)**

**Chapter title from the song by Midlake. Stunning and haunting, I love it.**

Acts of Man**  
**

Thursday, October 20, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Kyoto Grand: Arthur

Arthur had never felt so calm. It was a strange high, the way everything seemed to feel so still and quiet, as he walked to Eames' room that morning. His hands were in the pockets of his black dress pants, his white dress shirt pressed and his black skinny tie swinging as he moved.

He passed a couple in the hallway, foreign tourists by the looks of them. They looked at Arthur, who smiled and nodded warmly at them. They stared back but returned his greeting, probably wondering why a young man was wandering the hallways of such an expensive hotel, so early in the morning.

He reached Eames' door and knocked lightly, waiting…

The door opened a couple moments later, revealing Eames in a bathrobe, generic white and with the hotel insignia over his heart. He stared at Arthur.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Can I come in? Ariadne sent me to get her things."

"Sure," Eames said slowly. He stepped back as Arthur walked inside, going straight to the extra bedroom (Eames' suite was laid out exactly like his). He found Ariadne's clothes, tossed rather haphazardly around the room. He began to neatly fold them and tuck them inside her open suitcase.

Eames hovered in the doorway. "I take it you made up."

"Yes," Arthur confirmed. He was there because Ariadne was currently upstairs, wearing one of his shirts and not much else. "She didn't want to come back in her pajamas." He thought of the couple he'd passed and wondered how they would've reacted at seeing Ariadne in her casual pajamas.

"Reasonable," Eames murmured. "So everything's okay?"

"Well, aside from the fact that today is most likely the last day of my life," Arthur said breezily. Eames flushed, tightening his grip on the doorjamb. "Yes, everything is okay. She's told me she loves me, and I've told her everything I ever wanted to. I've kissed her, and made love to her, and held her afterwards and known that nothing could ever make for a better last night."

He turned around, having zipped up the suitcase. Eames looked embarrassed. Arthur wasn't in the mood, but he sighed.

"I'm sorry, Eames," he said. "I didn't mean to say all that."

"Don't be," Eames disagreed softly. "I deserve a lot more than that. You should be throttling me right now."

Arthur smiled. "Don't tempt me."

He stepped past Eames, carrying Ariadne's suitcase with him. Eames shadowed him to the door.

"Arthur, wait." Arthur turned when Eames spoke, his eyebrows raised again as he waited for the forger to continue. Eames looked deeply apologetic. "I'm sorry. I want you to know that. I'm sorry. We've never seen eye to eye, but I always thought of you as someone I could depend on, someone who would always have my back. I'm sorry for hurting you."

Arthur blinked, surprised at the depth and earnestness of Eames' apology.

"Eames," he said at last. "Thank you. I forgive you."

Eames nodded, but didn't try and hug him, like Micah would've. Arthur was grateful for this, because he knew he couldn't bring himself to hug Eames. He still hated the man, a little bit.

Arthur left Eames in the doorway, going to the stairs and returning to his floor. He pulled his room key out of his pocket and opened the door.

Ariadne was sitting on the couch, her creamy white legs tucked under her, a blue t-shirt of Arthur's hanging around her torso. She was currently eating her way through French toast, a fraction of the food spread on the table before her.

She turned when she heard the door close and smiled widely, getting to her feet.

"Excellent," she trilled, darting to Arthur's side and taking the suitcase from him. She kissed him in thanks, and he smiled against her mouth. "I'm going to get dressed. Feel free to eat whatever in the meantime."

"I will," he said warmly. She kissed him one last time and then took off for the bedroom.

He sat on the couch she'd vacated and looked at the food on the table, spread like a religious offering. They'd gone a little crazy ordering breakfast; while Ariadne cheerfully passed it off as something they'd better do while it was still free (Cobb was paying, and it was their last day at the hotel) Arthur had his own reason: this was, for all intents and purposes, his last meal.

So he began to make his way through a chocolate milkshake (amazed the hotel had these available even at eight o'clock in the morning) along with medium rare steak, kiwis, coleslaw and chicken and cheddar quesadillas.

Ariadne returned a few minutes later, wearing dark blue jeans, a green blouse and a lacy white scarf. He couldn't help but smile when he saw her.

"You look beautiful."

She smiled in response, sitting down beside him, very closely, so their legs were touching. She played with the ends of the scarf.

"Do you remember when you gave this to me?"

He thought about it. "New Year's Eve. We were at that restaurant near Notre Dame. You were wearing a velvet dress and a necklace with a ruby on it…"

"And you were wearing one of your suits," Ariadne confirmed, nodding. "A gray one, with an actual fedora. And you told me you wanted to give me something, to celebrate the new year, and you pulled out a wrapped box and the scarf was in it."

"You were so angry," Arthur continued. "Because you didn't think I should've done that, given you something, like there'd been no reason to. But then you put it on and you saw your reflection, and you were very happy about it."

She rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't have."

"Naw. I'm glad I did." They looked at each other, and he knew the moment had cost her emotionally. He cleared his throat and turned to the food.

"What should we tackle first?"

They made their way through fried chicken, croissants with chocolate in them, French fries, grilled portabello mushrooms, macaroni and cheese and a dozen other foods, washed down with Shirley Temple drinks and strawberry-banana smoothies.

"I feel like I'm going to burst," Ariadne moaned at some point. "This is delicious."

"Definitely," Arthur agreed. "Cobb's going to have a heart attack when he sees the bill."

She laughed, a sound he wished he could record and play over and over again in his mind. "Maybe we should take some of this with us."

"Maybe we should," he said softly. They looked at each other, and Arthur couldn't help but lean forward. He kissed her gently, tasting the mangoes she'd just eaten in her breath.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She swallowed, and he felt her eyelashes against his face as she blinked furiously. "No problem. My pleasure. I love you."

"And I love you," he reminded her.

They were kissing desperately again, their hands all over the other, the remaining food all but forgotten on the table in front of them. Arthur felt himself falling backward, until he was flat on his back and Ariadne was sprawled on top of him.

She kissed his nose. "Let's stay here all day. Never leave again. Lock the door and refuse to let anyone come in. We have plenty of food."

"Tempting," Arthur murmured. He pressed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth, his hands resting comfortably on her back. "Unfortunately, our presence is demanded…"

"Screw them," Ariadne snapped. "Screw them all." She gripped his tie in her hands, as if she could force him to stay by her strength alone. He wasn't sure about her strength, but if she started to cry…

"Stay with me…" She kissed him, pressing him into the couch. "Please…"

"Do you really want to talk about this now?" He asked her, speaking around her lips. "Is there nothing else you'd rather talk about?"

She sighed and sat up, scooting back to rest on his knees. He sat up, leaning on his elbows, watching her as she fiddled with the ends of her scarf.

"What do you think they would've looked like?" She asked at last.

Arthur frowned. "Who?"

Ariadne raised her chocolate brown eyes to his, and he felt like he was melting in them. "Our children."

He was surprised she wanted to talk about this. He wasn't sure he did, but this was better than her begging him to stay. He leaned forward, taking her hands in his.

"Well," he said slowly. "I think we would've had at least two."

"Three. Two boys and a girl."

"Three?" He considered this. "Alright. Well, I think our girl would look just like you. All chocolate brown eyes and curly hair. I'd be a terrible father to her, because I would never be able to tell her no."

Ariadne laughed. "That's the best kind of dad."

"Really?"

"Definitely," Ariadne said. "My dad could say no to me, Josie geared him for that… But we did get away with way more than Zach did." Arthur laughed and Ariadne continued on. "The boys would be like you. Skinny—we'd get all sorts of crap about that, but that's just the way you're built—and tall. Very handsome. And then they would all be so smart…"

"Not to mention outrageously creative," Arthur added.

"With a certain fondness for hockey and the Canadiens."

"And a love of classic rock and old literature."

She smirked. "Are we talking about the same kids?"

"Of course we are," Arthur said. He squeezed her hands. "They don't exist." He bit his tongue, forcing himself to not add what he'd also been thinking: _They won't ever exist._

He was pretty sure she'd figured out that last part anyway, by the way her lips twisted together.

"Don't be sad," he murmured. He leaned forward and kissed her hands, still in his, fleetingly. "You can still have kids some day, if you want them."

She sighed. "But they won't be yours."

"Kids of mine are overrated," he said. "You've met Adam's kids, and that's genetically pretty damn close to the real thing."

"Do you think I can talk to Adam?" She asked. "And Lily, and Tom and Morgan? Afterwards?"

Arthur frowned, but nodded. "I don't see why not."

He'd told her earlier of how he spoke to his mother, and reunited with Adam and met Lily and their kids. He'd also told her that Adam knew what the day would bring. But he hadn't said that he'd instructed Adam to give Ariadne a last gift, his final words and thoughts to her.

"I'd like that," she murmured.

He opened his mouth to say something, to remind her that Adam wasn't him, that they were totally different people, that she couldn't rely on spending time with Adam to keep her memories of him alive…But he found the words failed him. Instead, he glanced at his watch.

"We should go."

She nodded, and slowly clambered off his legs. They stood, and Arthur kissed her forehead delicately.

They barely spoke during the drive to the warehouse. He had the windows of the car down, letting the smoggy air permeate the car. He found it nice still; the toxic air reminded him of his childhood and Los Angeles. He could barely keep his eyes on the road though. He kept looking at Ariadne, her hand in his, gazing out the window with the wind blowing through her dark brown hair.

He gripped her hand in his, taking a deep breath. It was really special, he reflected, to know that they'd come to such an understanding of the other. He'd never felt so loved or adored.

All too soon, he was pulling up to the warehouse. Everyone was standing in front of it, beside a large white van Cobb must've rented this morning. They all looked up when Arthur and Ariadne arrived.

Arthur cut the engine and got out, pulling his bags from the backseat. Ariadne followed his lead, holding her jacket in her arms. Arthur walked to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and walking with her to the team, meandering around the luggage spread on the ground.

Cobb spoke first. "How are you?"

"Fine," Arthur said, honestly. "Are we ready?"

"Looks like it," Cobb murmured. "Browning called earlier; Fischer will be at the power plant in about an hour and a half."

"Which means we have to move," Eames muttered.

Without further ado, they packed their bags and got into the van, Micah and Eames settling in the last row, Arthur and Ariadne in the middle and Cobb in the passenger seat while Yusuf drove. Ariadne leaned against Arthur, resting her head on his collarbone and shoulder and closing her eyes. He drew circles and patterns on her arm, kissing her hair and forehead and inhaling her lovely lavender scent. He was aware that Eames was watching, but he couldn't care less. Micah, on the other hand, stared out the window like he could block out the scene entirely.

The power plant looked just like Arthur had anticipated, though that was largely because he'd been pouring over photographs and literature on it for days. Everyone else had more colorful reactions, save for Cobb, who'd seen all of Arthur's research.

"This place is a dump," Eames remarked.

"It certainly doesn't look safe," Micah commented, noticing the 'caution' construction tape and the bulldozers that surrounded the site.

"It's in the process of remodel," Arthur explained, surreptitiously tucking the keys to his rented Mercedes in the pocket of one of Ariadne's bags. Just in case he didn't make it that far… "Browning says the area we'll be in won't have any of it."

Micah looked dubious, but didn't comment. Cobb led the way to the building, while Yusuf conferred with Ariadne over a last minute question about the first level. Eames turned to follow Micah, but Arthur grabbed his shoulder.

"Here." He shoved a crumpled piece of paper into Eames' hands.

"What's this?" Eames asked, unfolding it. He frowned at the list of addresses, all within Southern California, that Arthur had neatly written.

Arthur swallowed. "My best guesses at where Browning has hidden Cobb's children."

Eames raised his eyes, his jaw slack in shock. Arthur decided to speak before he could say anything.

"I've organized them in the order I think most likely," Arthur explained, pointing to an address in Santa Monica. "Browning's got a longtime associate there. The next address is a summer home of a family friend, so on… I've been researching these for a while. I can't guarantee James and Philippa are at any of these, but… Look, if all else fails, Cobb will need to see their bodies."

Eames nodded tightly. "And you're giving the list to me because you don't think you'll be around to help us look."

"No. Obviously because I've memorized the addresses," Arthur said. Eames laughed and nodded.

"Of course, point man."

"One last thing," Arthur said. They began to walk, following after the team to the power plant. "Give Micah a chance. He's got a lot of potential."

"You really like him," Eames remarked.

Arthur smiled. "Yes, I do. He's smart and good at this. A natural, like Ariadne. Help him out, if he decides to do another job."

"I think I can do that."

They'd reached the building. Micah was waiting for them, holding the door open and looking suspicious, as if he knew they'd been talking about him.

"You ready for this, young one?" Eames asked, clapping Micah on the shoulder. Arthur smirked as Eames continued. "Got everything?"

Micah nodded slowly. "I think so…"

"No, you don't," Arthur disagreed. Eames and Micah watched as he pulled a handgun from an inside pocket of his coat and presented it to Micah. "This is for you."

Micah stared. "You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Arthur asked. Micah shook his head. "Correct. Take it, Micah. You're ready."

"But… What about you?"

"Please," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. He showed Micah the rest of his jacket, exposing his own gun, extra bullets and knife. "Everyone else has something to defend themselves with. You're the last one."

Micah took a deep breath, but nodded, accepting the gun from Arthur. He stowed it carefully away under his sweatshirt, his eyes somber.

"Good," Arthur said in approval. "Let's go." And he led the way inside.

Arthur knew the power plant like the back of his hand, and navigated the halls with ease. Eames and Micah followed him silently, not offering comment as they walked past bored workers and interested tourists. Businessmen in suits also passed, and it was those who sized up Arthur and Eames, while largely ignoring Micah.

They soon reached the conference room. It was large, painted basic blues and whites, and overlooked the biggest energy chambers of the plant. Arthur paused on the catwalk, studying the scene, while Eames and Micah walked inside. He couldn't find anything amiss or odd though, so he proceeded inside after them.

Yusuf was standing at a small table against the side of the wall, organizing what Arthur recognized as the sedatives. Ariadne stood with him, helping him by pouring glasses of water.

Meanwhile, Cobb was standing beside the man who Arthur currently hated more than anyone else.

"Mr. Browning," he said curtly, joining the two men. Browning frowned, almost disappointed to see Arthur.

"Mr. Zaleski," Browning said, just as formally. Arthur noticed a small group of men hovering nearby, eyes locked on Arthur after Browning identified him. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm fine," Arthur said furtively. "Glad to get this over with."

"I'm with you there," Browning muttered.

Cobb looked between the two, uncomfortable. "When will Mr. Fischer be here, Mr. Browning?"

Browning checked his watch. "Ten minutes."

"Okay." Cobb turned, but he didn't have to call the team together. They were already there. Micah fidgeting with his hands, Eames looking calm and collected, Yusuf holding a glass of water and Ariadne… Arthur's heart clenched when his eyes met hers. She grimaced at him, but Arthur looked away, at Browning instead; if he'd made it this far without Browning discovering his connection to Ariadne, he'd like to finish that way, too. Luckily, Browning was eyeing Yusuf.

"Yusuf, are we set?" Cobb asked.

Yusuf nodded. "Sedatives are all ready. We just have to find a way to ensure Mr. Fischer drinks his."

"I'll take care of that," Browning said firmly.

"As agreed, Mr. Browning and Mr. Fischer will have a couple minutes to talk," Cobb said. "Once Mr. Fischer is asleep, the rest of us will come in. When we show up in the dream, he will assume he is greatly exaggerating our characters; he might even remember us from the job last year, but it shouldn't be a problem. We'll take our own sedatives, and as soon as Mr. Fischer is out, we'll attach him to the PASIV." Arthur's eyes flickered to the small metal briefcase resting by the sedatives. "And then we're in."

"Just like that?" Browning looked doubtful.

Eames rolled his eyes pointedly. "That's how it works, Mr. Browning."

Cobb glanced at his watch. "We should get out of here. We'll be across the way," Cobb added, nodding at the hallway across the catwalk, from which they could see Fischer enter the conference room. "We'll see you shortly, Mr. Browning." He paused though, his eyes running over the men. "Will your… acquaintances still be here?"

"Oh yes," Browning said swiftly. "I require the insurance."

"Insurance?"

Browning's eyes drifted to Arthur, and Arthur nodded, having recognized why the men were there.

"Don't mind them, Cobb," he murmured. "They're just here to kill me before I can kill Browning."

He heard Ariadne give a squeak she quickly muffled, but didn't look at her.

"Ah," Cobb said softly. He glanced at Browning. "Very well. But I don't agree."

"I hardly expect you to," Browning snapped. He glared at Cobb, who shrugged after a moment of this, recognizing the tight schedule they were on.

The team filed out of the room, Cobb taking care to leave with Arthur in front of him. They walked across the catwalk to the hallway, where they hovered in it, leaning against the walls from each other.

"Browning's well-prepared," Eames remarked.

"Can you blame him?" Arthur asked.

Ariadne scowled. "I hate that they're going to be there the whole time. Anything could happen to you while we're under, and we'd have no idea."

"You'd figure it out pretty quickly," Arthur disagreed. "Because you'd all—Browning included—be sent down to Limbo when the second level collapsed."

"I'll make sure Browning knows that," Cobb said.

"Great, we've insured Arthur's life until the dream is over," Eames growled. "Then what?"

There was a short silence, during which everyone looked at Arthur and Arthur did his best to not look at anyone. He knew they were staring at him, trying to analyze just what he was feeling in that moment. He felt confused, more than anything else.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"You can't expect us to lie down and let you take the fall, darling," Eames said, as if this was very obvious. "Not without trying something first."

Arthur stared at him. "I thought we talked about this, Eames."

"We did," Cobb said, joining the conversation. "But we can't give up hope yet, Arthur." He frowned, gathering his thoughts together. "When we wake up, we should consider the very real possibility that the first thing that will happen is Browning's men will try to kill you."

"I think that's a given," Arthur said. "And what will happen is we'll let them, and the rest of you get the hell out of here. I can take down Browning before he gets me."

Ariadne sighed pointedly. "And that's that, then?"

He looked down at her, where she leaned against the wall next to him, holding his hand tightly in both of hers; his free hand was in his pants pocket. Her eyes were bright, angry at his attitude. He frowned; they'd talked about this.

"Basically."

"I don't think I can accept that," Eames said.

"Join the club," Ariadne huffed irritatedly.

Arthur glared at the two of them. "What's the plan then?"

"It'll be significantly more difficult to shoot you if you have help," Eames said calmly. "Those brutes look like all brawn and no brains. You and I have handled much smarter foes before."

"I can help too," Cobb added.

Arthur looked between the two men. "You have to be kidding me."

"Oh, I'm very serious. Cobb?"

Cobb nodded. "You won't be doing this alone, Arthur."

"Jesus Christ," Arthur hissed. "Look. Cobb. Eames. This is what's going to happen. We are going to wake up, I will shoot Browning, his men will shoot me, and the rest of you will run and leave me here. Yusuf, you will return to Makena in Mombasa. Micah, you'll get on a plane, go to Harvard and get your degree. Cobb, you will find and rescue your children, and take them home to San Francisco, where you will retire and never contact anyone about dreaming again. Eames, you will escort Ariadne back to Paris, where she will finish her degree. And then you can do whatever the fuck you want." He glared at them. Why couldn't they just listen to him and realize his plan was best, their only chance of survival? "This is how it has to be, if any of you want to go home and return to your lives."

No one said anything, and Arthur felt even more agitation. He straightened, tearing his hand from Ariadne's.

"I'm not taking this as easily as you might think," he snapped. "But trust me on this. This is our only way for the rest of you to make it out. And I know that some of you might want to take my place-" Eames had opened his mouth but closed it when Arthur said that "-But it's too late for that. Browning has heard my threat, he knows what I can do, and he knows he can't afford allowing me to live. So I really just need the rest of you to accept what is going to happen. Because I have. I'm ready."

"Arthur." It was Ariadne who spoke. She looked at him from the wall, her eyes large and sad. "They're just trying to help."

He sighed. "I know that, Ari. And I am grateful," he added, turning back to Cobb and Eames. Micah was blinking furiously, trying to fight tears. "But you know I'm right."

Cobb sighed. "Yes, I do. That doesn't stop me from arguing with you."

Arthur smiled. "It never did, Dom."

Cobb's expression collapsed like a failing dream, and Arthur suddenly realized he hadn't said goodbye to everyone important to him quite yet. It looked like Cobb was realizing this as well, because he suddenly straightened from the wall and jerked his head a little farther down the hall.

"Can I talk to you?"

Arthur nodded. "Okay." He leaned over and pressed a delicate kiss to Ariadne's forehead, and followed Cobb down the hallway.

The two men stood a little ways from the group, standing in the glare of a long window, which showed the ocean just a short distance away, though many feet below them; the plant jutted out near a cliff.

Cobb sighed deeply. "I wanted to say-"

"You don't have to say anything, Dom," Arthur murmured.

"I know," Cobb said. "But I…" He swallowed. "You were the one person who held me together after Mal died. You were my only grip on reality, the only real proof I had that I was alive. You've been the closest thing to a brother I've ever had, and for over a decade now… I've known I could trust you with my life."

Arthur stared at him, keeping his face impassive as always. "Whatever the situation," Cobb continued, "I always knew I could trust you to get me out alive. I've watched you take bullets for me, both fantastical and real. You would never hesitate. And now you've given up your life for mine, and I…" He raised his eyes and Arthur forced himself to meet them. "I think you would be a better father to my children than I ever could, and part of me wants to die instead, so they could have you."

"Dom…" Arthur shook his head. "No. I understand you're upset about this, but trust me: I'm okay. You've been beside me for years, you've virtually replaced Adam in my life, and I'm so grateful…"

He broke off, as Cobb began to cry, shaking sobs that were as devastating to Arthur as Ariadne's. Cobb gripped his forearms tightly.

"Don't pity me," Arthur whispered, repeating the words he'd told to Micah. "Just make sure I don't die in vain. Get your children back, and love them, and never let them go. Got it?"

Cobb nodded brokenly, and then he was hugging Arthur, tightly like Micah had, like a brother. And Arthur was hugging him back, gripping the extractor's suit jacket in his hands.

"Forgive me," Cobb croaked.

"I do," Arthur breathed. He was surprised, but he knew it was true. "I forgive you, Dom."

"Cobb, Arthur?"

Eames' voice made the men break apart. The forger was standing back down the hallway. His expression was hesitant, but firm. "Fischer's in."

Cobb nodded, straightening his tie, back to business. "Thanks." He wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulders, walking with the point man back down the hallway. Ariadne immediately dove into Arthur's arms when they reached them, winding her arms around his neck. Cobb stepped back, allowing Arthur to return her embrace.

Arthur put his lips by her ear. "Breathe, Ari."

She took a shuddering breath, and he could feel her tears against his cheek. "I will. I love you so much."

He smiled and held her more tightly. "Good girl. You know I love you." He kissed her neck to emphasize this point.

He knew that the rest of the team was nearby, but were doing their best to ignore the public display of affection. None of them would dare give either Arthur or Ariadne flak for it now. Arthur found he didn't care as he took long, deep breaths of air against Ariadne's shoulder and neck, inhaling her scent over and over again.

Cobb checked his watch. "Time's up. Browning's given the signal."

Arthur slowly let Ariadne slide down from the position she'd achieved on him. She looked up into his face, wiping her eyes hurriedly with the sleeves of her blouse.

"How do I look?" She asked breathlessly.

He smirked, taking her face in his hands. "Beautiful, as always." He leaned forward and kissed her lips softly, before taking a step back, separating them again. "Come on."

They followed the rest of the team back along the catwalk, back to the conference room.

Fischer was out cold in his chair, his head lolled back. Browning was sitting across from him, looking deeply disappointed. His bodyguards shuffled out of the way; Arthur knew they'd been acting as the executives Fischer thought he was there to meet.

"Didn't work?" Cobb guessed.

Browning sighed. "I didn't think it would."

"Shame," Eames said. "Guess you'll have to be the rotten scumbag you really are then." Browning whipped his head around to glare at Eames, who'd taken a seat on the other side of one of his bodyguards; they'd formed a protective circle around Browning. Arthur settled for sitting in the seat directly opposite of Browning's.

"You'll be sitting there?" Browning asked, looking uncomfortable.

"It's a good spot," Arthur said, shrugging. He locked eyes with the bodyguards surrounding Browning, and morbidly wondered which of them would end up killing him.

Cobb opened the PASIV, and was passing out the leads. He attached one to Fischer and then helped Browning with his as the other team members inserted their own needles.

Eames raised his glass of water. "Cheers."

They all downed their glasses of water, and Arthur automatically began to feel a little woozy. He'd just managed to set down his glass when he spotted Micah's eyes slide shut as he passed out.

Cobb nodded at the bodyguard hovering by the PASIV, his finger resting over the plunger.

The last thing Arthur was aware of doing was grabbing Ariadne's hand.

**And here we go... Review, please!**


	32. How

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Anddd REVIEWERS, WHO(M?) I ADORE- _Guest_: (was this Shanynde?) That conversation seems so awkward to me, so I'm glad it worked for you, haha. Thanks for reviewing so quickly! _Iole17_: Two reviews, you're all caught up! :) And yes, tension is nuts. _recey2010_: :D I'll take that as a compliment. and thanks for the second review too! _Knuckiducki_: Six chapters until we find out who lived and who died... and I agree with what you said about "Flames" versus "Anywhere," I just like "Flames" more too. _In. Blue. 85_: thanks! and believe it or not, but I'm nervous too, and I know what's going to happen!**

**6 chapters (including this one) to go guys!**

**Chapter title from the beautiful song by Regina Spektor.**

How**  
**

Thursday, October 20, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The First Level: Arthur

Arthur was standing by a copy machine, watching the copier spit out repeated documents of what looked like energy bills. He watched the process for a moment, mesmerized, until he felt a hand grab his arm.

It was Micah, looking odd in a light gray suit and sky blue tie. Arthur glanced down, noticing Yusuf had put him in all black, save for his steel gray tie.

"Where is everyone?" Micah demanded breathlessly.

Arthur automatically stacked the copies neatly, while casually looking out of the copy room. The office was designed like a fishbowl, perfect for them to see everything that was happening. He had no trouble finding Fischer, looking stressed as he was shouted at by his confused employees; the self-doubt would set in quickly, no problem. Arthur slid his eyes past Fischer's private office, spotting Cobb in an iron-colored suit striding to the door with purpose, Browning and Eames following him.

"Cobb, Browning and Eames," Arthur murmured in an aside to Micah.

Micah nodded, relieved. "Ariadne and Yusuf just walked past."

"Hm," Arthur said thoughtfully. "We need to wait by the elevators then. We can follow Cobb, Eames and Fischer down."

He picked up the copies and exited the office, Micah breathing down his neck. Arthur kept his expression smooth, feeling only a little uncomfortable being surrounded by so many projections. Fischer's subconscious had yet to realize what was happening; this kind of situation must have happened a bit in real life.

Arthur reached his cubicle, conveniently located close to the elevators. Micah was in the one across from him, and he saw the student hesitate as the phone in front of him rang. Arthur nodded and Micah picked it up.

"This is Micah Harper…"

Arthur smirked and turned on his computer. He was surprised to see the background was a shot of the Eiffel Tower. He smiled and glanced around.

Ariadne was sitting just yards from his desk, directly in front of the line of elevators. She was acting as an assistant secretary (_could we be any more sexist?_ Arthur wondered; he couldn't remember whose idea that had been), answering phones and chatting lightly with Fischer's projections. It was clear they found nothing dangerous about her; they were getting on well.

_So far, so good_, Arthur thought.

Yusuf was loitering by a water cooler in the clear break room, looking nervous. Yusuf was the only one Arthur was really worried about; he could only hope Yusuf would recover a bit when he was driving. His driving had seriously improved during the lessons Arthur had given him a few days earlier.

He snapped out of it when he saw Micah drop his phone.

Cobb was striding towards them, Fischer at his shoulder, Browning and Eames hovering behind them. Cobb and Browning showed no sign of recognizing neither Micah nor Arthur, but Eames winked at them. Arthur noticed how stressed and agonized Fischer looked. Cobb must've explained the situation with the safe.

The four men reached the bank of elevators. Arthur waited until the doors had closed behind them until he got to his feet.

"Move," he hissed to Micah.

Micah hurried after him as Arthur walked swiftly to the elevators. Ariadne had already pressed the button for another one. Yusuf abandoned his stiff talk with a projection and darted over to them.

Arthur glanced behind him and only had time to reach into his jacket—

"Down!" He yelled as a series of gunshots sprayed out at them. They hit the floor; Ariadne and Micah scrambled under her desk while Yusuf hid in the hallway. Arthur found shelter behind a conveniently placed wall support, leaning against it. He counted in his head until the gunfire died down before stepping out and taking down a man in a black suit—

The elevator doors opened. Yusuf wasted no time in diving inside, Micah and Ariadne hot on his heels. Arthur barely had time to slide in himself, making it thanks to the well-aimed return fire from Micah and Ariadne.

"Are you okay?" Ariadne demanded as the elevator began to drop.

"Yes," Arthur said, running his hands over his torso before nodding. "The rest of you?"

Micah looked pale. "Fine. Was that-"

"Fischer's subconscious woke up," Arthur confirmed. "I think we moved too fast. We suddenly looked different to them. Dammit."

"What happens now?" Yusuf asked.

Arthur shook his head. "We can assume we'll get to the lobby and all hell breaks loose. Here." He jabbed his thumb into the button of the third floor. "We have to get off early."

"Why-" Micah didn't get to finish his question as the elevator abruptly stopped. He barely had time to look confused when bullets exploded down on them. Arthur instinctively stretched his arm out, catching Ariadne in the chest and shoving her back with him against the side of the elevator. Micah and Yusuf cowered opposite of them.

"Up," Ariadne gasped, the wind knocked out of her. Arthur looked up and saw that the bullets had indeed come from the ceiling of the elevator.

Yusuf looked terrified. "Is that-"

"The militarized subconscious come to play," Arthur muttered. "This is going to be interesting. Get ready." He reached up and grabbed the emergency exit, pulling the chute down. He managed to glimpse two pairs of hands until the hands vanished in a hail of gunfire from Ariadne and Micah. He heard the satisfyingly loud thunks as the projections' bodies tumbled.

Arthur studied the ceiling for a long moment before deciding that was it. Then, without an explanation, he shoved his gun in his pocket, hooked his hands on either side of the exit and pulled himself out of the elevator.

The air in the elevator shaft was cool. Arthur shoved the projections aside, glancing up. He spotted the chute they must've come through and walked to it as he heard Micah gasping behind him as he pulled himself up after Arthur.

"It's clear," Arthur muttered. He turned back and helped Micah make the last foot onto the top of the elevator.

"We'll have to go through the air shaft," Arthur said, reaching down and gripping Ariadne's hands as he helped pull her through.

"Is that safe?" Micah asked as he helped Arthur pull Yusuf through.

Arthur shrugged. "Probably not. But it's pretty much the only chance we've got. Unless…" He looked at Ariadne.

She shook her head despondently. "I didn't think about making any special exits in the elevator shaft."

"I don't blame you," Arthur agreed. "I'll go first. Stay quiet so we can hear if anymore are coming."

The others nodded and Arthur climbed into the air vent, Micah behind him and Ariadne following him with Yusuf last. The air vent was thankfully cold like the elevator shaft, and Arthur moved quickly, grateful that it was rather big and he didn't have to force his back down anymore as he crawled on his hands and knees.

They'd been crawling for only a couple minutes when Arthur heard a distinct clipping sound ahead of them. He froze; Micah had luckily been paying attention and didn't bump into him. The four of them stilled in the air vent, feeling terribly exposed.

Arthur waited, his gun in his hand, as a shadow moved. Then a man's face—

**Bang**.

The projection fell.

"We're almost there," Arthur murmured. Getting over the projection was a bit of a hassle (the space was tight enough) but they all managed it. Arthur was pretty sure he'd never felt so relieved to see the slant of light ahead as they reached the end of the vent. He climbed out and straightened with a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," Micah muttered as Arthur reached into the vent, offering a hand to Ariadne. Yusuf was sweating profusely, and huffed upon exiting the vent.

"Never again," he grumbled.

Arthur smirked, still holding Ariadne's hand. "Let's get out of here."

They ran down the hallway, Ariadne smoothly directing them to the emergency stairs. She flung open the door and Arthur had barely taken a step when Ariadne's arm reached out, catching him in the stomach as she dragged him back. An explosion of bullets hitting the now-closed door told him why.

"Thanks," he gasped.

Micah looked dismayed. "Now what?"

"Last ditch effort," Ariadne explained. "How far up are we?"

Yusuf glanced out the window. "Maybe fourth. We're not as high as we were, at least."

"Good," Ariadne said. Arthur stared as she joined Yusuf at the window, took a cursory glance and then shoved him aside. She fluidly opened the window and had one leg out the side by the time Arthur grabbed her arm.

"What are you doing?" He demanded.

"We can jump," she explained. Arthur leaned over her and saw she was right. A deep dumpster was below them, piled high with black garbage bags. He guessed Yusuf was right in estimating this was the fourth floor.

Micah blanched. "Are you sure?"

"Quite," she said. "It's a recycling bin. It's full of paper."

"Maybe I should go first-" Arthur didn't even get to finish his sentence when Ariadne wrenched her arm out of his grip and slid out of the window. He watched, his heart beating furiously, as she landed in the center. She looked up and gave him the thumbs-up, scrambling out of the way.

Arthur nodded. "Micah, go. Stay quiet."

Micah jumped, managing to swallow his whimper as he plummeted down. Ariadne, already over the side and climbing down the ladder, yelled something to him.

"Yusuf."

Yusuf looked nervous but managed to fall out of the window, landing hard in the dumpster. He recovered quickly and scrambled after Micah. Ariadne was standing on the ground, staring up at Arthur.

Arthur had slid onto the windowsill, throwing his legs over, when he heard a door burst open. He spun around as a group of projections appeared. One raised his gun—

But he was already falling, the bullets whizzing in the air over his head. He landed in the middle of the dumpster as more bullets embedded themselves around him. He slithered down the ladder, not bothering to step, and managed to land on his feet.

The others needed no instruction; they were already running, tearing around the building. The projections had fully awoken now, and they were being shot at from all sides. Arthur tore after Ariadne, making sure to keep her directly in front of him, while Micah puffed beside him and Yusuf ran ahead of them all.

"Parking garage," Ariadne gasped, dragging Yusuf to the right as they reached the corner of the building.

"Get Cobb!" Arthur yelled. He skidded to a stop as soon as they rounded the corner and set up camp, returning fire to the projections.

Ariadne heard this and stopped running. "Arthur!"

"Pick me up!" He yelled back. He locked eyes with her for a moment and she nodded, grabbing Yusuf by the shirt and taking off into the underground garage. But Micah stayed, standing behind Arthur and helping him shoot at the projections.

"How long will they be?" Micah demanded. His voice sounded sure, even though Arthur knew him to be terrified.

"Not very," Arthur shouted over the gunfire. "They'll be waiting for us. They just need Yusuf-"

He'd barely said the last word when a projection managed to break through his and Micah's well-done wall of fire. Arthur automatically stood, punching the projection in the jaw and sending the man sprawling.

"Keep an eye out!" He snapped, noticing that Micah had frozen in terror. The student snapped out of it as Arthur ducked, missing a swing from the projection.

Only a couple minutes had passed (the projection lying on the ground, knocked out) when there was the sound of screeching brakes. Arthur and Micah straightened as a black van pulled up beside them, Yusuf in the front seat and Cobb beside him. The door slid open and Eames was there, leaning from the back.

He didn't need to tell them to get in. Micah threw himself in first and Arthur climbed in after him, slamming the door shut behind them as Yusuf peeled into traffic.

"Ariadne told us what happened," Cobb called as Arthur felt her hands running down his arms. He turned in his seat and spotted her sitting right behind him, Eames next to her and Browning and Fischer squished in the back.

Micah was breathing hard. "That was insane."

"What's insane is that none of you are dead," Eames commented. Arthur looked past him and spotted Fischer, passed out against the window.

He jerked his head. "He's out?"

"Dreaming sweet dreams," Eames confirmed. Cobb had opened the PASIV, letting Micah pass out the tubes. Arthur took his and deftly inserted it into his wrist, stretching his other arm back automatically. He felt Ariadne take it, and squeezed her fingers.

"Three, two, one-"

**The Second Level**

He was standing outside of Fischer's childhood home. He was wearing brown pants and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked down and spotted Ariadne, hovering by his side, wearing a loose green dress. They were still holding hands.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

She nodded. "Yes. You?"

"Fine."

Micah appeared, getting up from where he'd been sitting in the long grass. A beautiful ocean sunset stretched beyond him. Arthur looked past Micah and spotted Eames, standing on top of a bucket in an effort to look into the house. Browning was with him, looking curious. He turned and peered into the house as well.

Cobb was standing in the entrance hall of the house, simply watching the scene before him. Fischer stood in the center of the living room, his eyes wide as he took in the projections before him.

"I can't believe it," Arthur murmured. "Cobb's suggestions worked. He's actually remembering something."

"This is crazy," Micah muttered, joining Arthur by the window.

"Micah," Eames called suddenly. He beckoned the student forward. "Let me show you something."

Micah looked confused, but obediently followed Eames' request, shooting looks back at Arthur. Arthur watched him go, wondering himself what Eames had to show Micah. Eames led Micah and Browning away, to the other side of the house.

"What-" He barely got the word out when he felt Ariadne throw herself on him, pressing her lips tightly to his and gripping his shoulders. She swayed a moment later, the momentum failing her, but Arthur recovered enough to grab her around the waist.

He blinked. "What was that about?"

"Eames is giving us a moment," Ariadne explained. "I asked him to while we were driving out of the parking garage to get you and Micah."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say.

Ariadne smiled and slid down, taking his hand again. She walked forward, towards the cliff edge, where she flopped down into the tall grass. Arthur laughed and followed her, sitting down beside her. She pulled him down until they were lying side-by-side, flat on their backs.

"What does it mean if we see clouds in the shape of things in a dream?" Ariadne wondered.

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. But this is my dream, so I guess it would have to do with my subconscious."

They looked up at the clouds. Arthur didn't see anything, and he didn't care to. He closed his eyes, rubbing the back of Ariadne's hand with his thumb.

"Is this it?"

Her voice was so quiet. He opened his eyes, turning his head. She was staring avidly at him, her eyes wide and clear.

He knew what she was asking. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Is this the last time I'll ever talk to you?" She whispered. He felt her grip his hand more tightly as she spoke, but her voice didn't waver or rise. She was honestly asking him questions while keeping her emotions in check. "Is this the last time I'll hold your hand and be able to feel you squeeze mine? Is this the last time I'll see your gorgeous eyes open, the last time I'll hear you breathe, say my name-"

He lifted his free hand, pressing his index finger to her mouth and forcing her to stop speaking.

"So what if it is," he said softly. "_Ariadne_. What if it is?"

She blinked furiously. "It's not enough for the rest of my life, Arthur."

"Hm." He moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her and trapping her in an embrace. She laid her head against his chest as his lips ghosted over her, as he continuously murmured her name, "Ariadne, Ariadne…"

She swallowed; he could feel it against his ribs. "Arthur…"

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm going to miss you so much."

He smiled, kissing her hair. "I think I'll miss you, too. Assuming I'm aware of anything, whatever happens after this life…" He trailed off, choosing to move away from such a morbid topic. "Remember what I told you, Ari."

"_Everything_? I don't have a photographic memory."

"The important things, then," he amended. "Remember that I loved you. That I valued your life above mine, and that's why I did this. Remember that I told you to go back to Paris and finish your degree. Remember that I wanted you to move on, have children, find someone to grow old with. Remember that I wanted you to dream again, but never to try and find your projection of me. Kill that bastard before he kills you, okay?"

She laughed, kissing his neck. "Remember that I love you, too, you odd, self-hating, ridiculous man." She sighed. "I wish we could stay like this forever."

He sighed and opened his mouth to say something when he spotted a figure over her shoulder. He sat up, his hand going for the gun in his waistband. Ariadne sat up with him and turned around, her hand covering her mouth in surprise.

Arthur switched off the safety—

"Wait."

He stared as the projection of Ariadne approached him. He knew it was his projection of her, because she was dressed as he thought of her: jeans, short-sleeved blue blouse and that lace scarf he'd given her. She was bare foot, and her hands were raised in a calming gesture.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she said.

Arthur and the real Ariadne gawked as she walked to them, sitting down and crossing her legs in front of them. The ocean framed her beautifully.

"Why are you here?" Arthur asked.

She looked at Arthur for a long moment before turning to Ariadne. "I'm here to stay with him."

Ariadne began to tremble, and Arthur hooked an arm around her, keeping his eyes locked on his projection. "What do you mean?"

"She can't be with you now," the projection whispered. "But she doesn't want to leave you. So I'm here; next best thing."

He froze as she reached forward, touching his face. His eyes flickered from her to the real Ariadne, clutching his arm. It was like having a bizarre fantasy.

The projection smiled. "It's okay." She turned to the real Ariadne, and Arthur suddenly realized how Ariadne must've felt at seeing Adam.

"I'll stay with him," she said to Ariadne. "But it's time for you to let him go."

Sure enough, they could hear Eames calling. Arthur and Ariadne turned around to acknowledge him. Arthur got up, pulling Ariadne up with him. The projection smiled.

"I'll be back when they're asleep," she murmured. She turned and walked away, her hands in her pockets.

The real Ariadne reached up, taking his face in her hands. Her eyes shined with tears, the sunlight catching the ones already streaming down her cheeks.

"I can't say goodbye to you," she croaked.

"Then don't," he advised. "_Don't_." He bent down and kissed her, trying to convey every feeling he had: all his adoration, his soft regret, his desperation, and most forcibly, all his love. She responded in kind, her nails digging into his neck.

He broke the kiss sadly, kissing her cheek and taking her hand. "Let's go."

She allowed him to lead her inside, where Eames had been watching them with deep sorrow.

"Everyone's upstairs," he murmured.

Arthur climbed the stairs first, Ariadne holding onto his hand. They walked down the hall, finding the bedroom crowded. Fischer was asleep on the bed, Browning sitting beside him and Cobb and Micah had organized the tubes.

Everyone looked sad as they took their places. Arthur accepted their sympathy, from Cobb's grip on his shoulder to Micah's half-hug, even to Eames' handshake. Browning stared straight at Arthur, his head cocked as though he was debating something. Arthur ignored this. He knelt beside Ariadne's chair, holding her wrist in his hand, gently inserting the needle.

"Stay safe," he whispered, running his hand through her hair.

"Only if you do the same," she countered, her face broken.

He kissed her hand, entwined with his. "I'll see you on the other side." He wasn't sure if he meant reality or a farther other side.

He turned to look at Cobb, whose face was the epitome of loss; Cobb nodded once. Arthur turned back to Ariadne quickly as his own hand reached for the button on the PASIV. Her eyes watched the motion, her anxiety mounting.

"I love you," she gasped.

"I love you too," he managed, hand hesitating. And then she was kissing him and he was kissing her back just as strongly, right until the moment he forced himself to press the button on the PASIV and he felt her slouch against him.

He pushed her back in her chair, settling her hands in her lap. He got to his feet and gently kissed her forehead.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered.

He turned and spotted his projection of Ariadne standing in the doorway. She smiled, sadly.

"Now what?" She asked.

Arthur sighed and opened the drawers of the dresser, pulling out a stiff stack of explosives. In the distance, he could hear the projections approaching the house.

"Now," he murmured. "I do what I do best."

**Review, please. Your chances to do so are running out! (hint hint)**


	33. Accelerate

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**REVIEWERS FOR THE WIN- _Lazarus76_: hi! thanks, and that was an incredibly speedy review! _Shanynde: _sorry, I won't be gutting you... but thanks for the compliment on my writing! _Guest who is not Shanynde (sorry)__: _oh gosh, thank you! _cinema therapy_: thanks! I spent so long writing and re-writing that... _Eeyore08_: haha yeah, I can see why it'd be creepy... but thanks! _Iole17_: hold tight... _Knuckiducki_: Yes, I wrote Browning very specifically that way, we'll see why... :P _In. Blue. 85_: I saw Regina Spektor live recently... incredible concert, I was beside myself. and thanks for the review. _recey2010_: I LOL'd. :)**

**Chapter title from the song by REM.**

Accelerate**  
**

Thursday, October 20, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Third Level: Micah

Micah swirled the flute of wine in his hand, unsure and a little lost.

It was a beautiful fall day, and he was standing in what he was told was a park in Los Angeles, but knew to really be the third level of this dream. He didn't even need his compass to tell him that. He remembered.

"Want anything to eat?"

He turned and realized the question came from Ariadne. She blended in with the funeral goers, wearing a knee-length black dress and pearls. He looked down and was surprised to see he was wearing a black three-piece suit, not unlike one of Arthur's.

"What?" He asked, remembering she'd said something.

She gestured at the massive buffet of food next to them. "I asked if you wanted anything to eat."

"Oh." Micah surveyed the food, uncertain. "I guess this is a pretty major pro of a dream, huh? All the food and none of the calories?"

"It is nice," she agreed. She looked at the food, the expensive sandwiches, cheeses, fruit and various salads.

He shrugged. "I'm not hungry, either."

Ariadne sighed deeply, looking distressed. Micah watched her run a hand through her hair, which hung loose.

"I can't believe this is happening," she whispered.

As she spoke, the table in front of them trembled. Micah grabbed the edge of it, concerned. His concern grew when Ariadne seized his wrist, her eyes huge.

"Something's happening," she murmured.

She tugged him away, darting into another tent. Micah was aware that the projections were becoming suspicious, milling about around the funeral and shooting them looks.

"What do you mean?" He asked as Ariadne dragged him into a small building where the chefs were preparing food.

"Level two," she replied over the din of the kitchen. "That shaking was too close. Something is happening on Arthur's level."

Micah's heart beat faster as he thought of what could be happening to the point man.

"Shit, he's all alone-"

"Arthur will be fine," Ariadne snapped. He looked at her, but she didn't turn. He could've sworn he heard her add, "He's not alone."

Gunfire tore through the air, and Micah dove, hiding under a counter as Ariadne mirrored him across the hallway. She suddenly had a gun in her hand, and Micah had no idea where it'd come from. He reached into his suit jacket and found a gun, again struck by how similar it was to Arthur's.

If Ariadne noticed that, she didn't comment. He watched as she slid out of her cabinet to fire at the projections. He followed her lead, and then they were shooting together, quite efficiently—

Running feet sounded behind him and he froze, stopping his shooting as Cobb appeared. The extractor hurtled past and Ariadne stepped out of the cabinet, grabbing Micah's arm.

"Let's go!"

He raced with her down the corridors of the kitchen, following past surprised kitchen personnel and armed projections. Bullets whizzed past him and Micah had never felt more scared in his entire life.

When suddenly they broke out into bright sunshine, emerging into a large field. The biggest white tent was overhead, and Micah squinted down a long aisle: a casket was at the end. He spotted Fischer and a man he had to assume was his father. Though in this case, that man was really Eames. Browning was sitting in the front row of chairs.

Cobb reappeared, jamming a thick mental rod between the doors and locking the projections inside.

"We have to draw them away from Eames, Browning and Fischer," he snapped to Micah and Ariadne. "While still staying in distance of the kick."

Ariadne nodded. "As long as we're near the cliff, we're fine."

"What about Eames?" Micah demanded.

"Eames has done this many times, he'll know the kick," Cobb said quickly. "We're ahead of schedule too."

Ariadne suddenly started to walk. "Hurry. I can hear them."

Cobb and Micah followed her, hurrying to the cliff edge, with Los Angeles spread out below them. The sight was truly breathtaking, but Micah didn't have a chance to appreciate it as the all-too-familiar sound of gunfire interrupted his thoughts.

They tore down the cliff, pausing only to duck and hide behind well-placed decorative rocks or funeral bouquets. Micah couldn't believe how much violence he'd seen that day, and was about to move again when—

"_Micah_! Look out!"

He spun at Ariadne's cry, but moved too slowly. A projection tackled him to the ground, causing his gun to spin away from him.

Micah rolled, sliding his neck out of the projection's hands and kicking it in the stomach. The man gasped reflexively, and Micah took the opportunity to wiggle away, using the momentum to punch the man in the jaw. He gasped, and Micah stretched his arm back, feeling—

**Bang**.

He shot the projection square in the forehead. The man fell with a huff; Micah barely got out of the way.

He got to his feet, meeting Ariadne's eyes; she'd paused to make sure he was okay, and then took off, Micah breathing harder but more confident in his abilities.

They'd been running for ten minutes, and Micah had just begun to think they could do this for the rest of the dream when the unthinkable happened: a projection appeared from behind a tree and shot Cobb in the stomach.

Micah reacted instinctively as Ariadne tripped in astonishment. He shot the projection in the arm, and tackled it to the ground, knocking it out with a swift neck trick Arthur had taught him.

Cobb gasped, his hands covering his side. Ariadne appeared, wrapping her arms around his torso. Cobb's eyes were wild, locked on the image of Micah on the ground with the projection.

"Thanks, Arthur," he gasped.

Micah froze, unable to meet Ariadne's shocked expression. Had Cobb really thought Micah was his point man? He didn't have time to say anything in response though, as Cobb began to tremble.

"Micah," Ariadne said firmly, her tone making it clear that she knew who Micah was. "Grab his legs."

"Where are we taking him?" Micah asked breathlessly, following her directions.

"The electricity box," Ariadne said. They heaved him over to what Micah had assumed was a city electricity outlet for the streetlights near them. Ariadne stepped up and threw open the door, revealing a spacious nook, complete with steel bench and cement floor, along with a small window lined with bars so no one could see inside.

Micah helped her pull Cobb inside, depositing him on the bench. Ariadne slammed the door shut and locked it securely. Micah raced to the window. He could see projections milling about, but none seemed to know where they'd gone.

"Fischer's subconscious is pretty stupid," he muttered.

"I don't think that's it. Micah, help me."

Micah turned around, kneeling beside Ariadne. She was holding tissues to Cobb's side; Micah spotted a first aid kit open next to her, and realized this place was well-stocked.

"Here." He followed her lead, pressing the tissue to Cobb's stomach.

The extractor was gasping. "I'm too old for this." Micah didn't blame him for that; two perfectly fine twenty-three year olds were saving him.

"You can retire tomorrow," Ariadne snapped. "Stay still, don't be stupid."

"How much longer…?" Micah started.

"Not much," Cobb murmured.

"How will we know about the kick?"

Ariadne answered. "We'll hear it. The window vent above us will let the music in. The cliff is about ten yards to the North. We'll just have to throw ourselves off it."

Micah looked at Cobb. "Can you make it that far?"

"Yes," Cobb said determinedly. "I'm not going back to Limbo."

"Firm pressure, Micah," Ariadne said. She sighed and sat back on the floor, looking exhausted.

Cobb noticed. "How are you doing, Ariadne?"

"I'm okay," she whispered. She ran a hand through her hair, looking stressed and amazingly small for someone Micah had just watched kill numerous projections.

Cobb was studying Micah. "Interesting outfit."

"Yeah…" Micah looked down, wishing the three-piece suit would go away and leave him in a normal, modern-looking black suit. "Why did Eames put me in this? He's the dreamer, right?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He turned to Ariadne, whose face was serious. "Eames is already beginning to think of you as the new Arthur. Dressing you the same way is his subconscious's way of demonstrating that fact."

Micah's mouth fell open. He turned to Cobb, who only nodded, not wanting to speak.

"That's insane!" Micah spluttered.

"Is it?" Ariadne wondered. "Arthur's been telling everyone that you're our new point man."

Micah knew this, as Arthur had already told him, but he still felt indignant. "Well, I'm not. Who says I'm going to come back after all this?"

"Because you're just like him."

Ariadne and Micah looked at Cobb, whose breathing was even, if labored. Cobb's blue eyes were locked on Micah.

"You're just like Arthur," Cobb said. "When I found out what had happened to him in Afghanistan, I couldn't imagine ever wanting to return to this. He laughed when I said so, and he told me, '_But this is my life. There's nothing I'd rather do_.'" Cobb smiled warmly at Micah. "He wouldn't want you to stop dreaming just because he died."

"That's exactly what he said to me," Micah whispered.

Cobb's gaze shifted past him, to Ariadne on the floor. "Ariadne… He wouldn't want you to give it all up because of him, either."

"He gave it all up for me," Ariadne snapped.

"I know," Cobb said. "But that was to be with you." He hesitated, as if gathering his wits before adding, "You have no chance of ever seeing him again if you give it up now."

Micah stared at Cobb, confused. _How would Ariadne get to see_- But his thoughts stopped when it hit him, exactly what Cobb was suggesting.

Ariadne looked disgusted. "You're kidding. I'm not going to dream just so I can see Arthur. He told me I can't, and I won't. I know how stupid that is." She glared at Cobb, and Micah recognized she was hinting at Cobb's past problems with his own lover, his wife.

"You say that now," Cobb said. "When you know, somewhere up above us, he's breathing and holding your hand. You'll be singing a far different tune after you've buried him."

"Cobb," Micah whispered. "Stop."

Ariadne sighed, running her hands over her face. "No, he's right. I…" She exhaled deeply, raising her head. "I have to be realistic. I won't be able to let him go just like that."

He remembered speaking to Arthur in a dream, after a training session, when Arthur was talking about why Ariadne was still behaving like she loved him, even though he thought she didn't: "_She can't let go…"_

"I want you to be prepared," Cobb explained. "No one told me what it would be like when Mal died. I'm worried about you." He turned his head to look at her.

She smiled sadly. "I'll be okay, Dom."

Micah felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He knew he was looking at the two most important people in Arthur's life (well, Cobb was debatable at this point) and he felt like everything he knew about Arthur wasn't as true. Arthur had a real history with these people; their pain at losing him was so much greater than Micah's.

"If you want, you can stay with me," Cobb told her.

She sighed pointedly. "Please don't, Dom. I don't want to talk about this right now."

Micah also wanted to change the subject. "What's happening on the other levels?"

"Well, Yusuf's driving has improved greatly," Cobb said, turning to look at Micah. Ariadne blinked gratefully at having him look away. "Thanks to Arthur, naturally. So hopefully Arthur's not dealing with as many gravitational shifts on his level. Everything is still fairly stable here."

Micah hopped up and looked out the window. The projections had grown in number.

"Do they know we're here?" He wondered.

"Not here," Ariadne said, emphasizing the outlet. "But they probably know we're nearby. They probably know they got Dom, too."

Cobb gently pulled the wad of tissues from his side and hissed. Micah saw why; the blood was still pooling.

"You're losing blood fast," Micah murmured.

"Dammit," Cobb agreed. "How-"

He broke off when Ariadne shushed him. She was sitting on her knees, her hands raised, her index finger over her mouth in the universal 'ssh' gesture. Her eyes were wide.

"Do you hear that?" She asked breathlessly.

Micah froze, listening intently…

"_Non, je ne regrette rien… Ni le bien, qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal…"_

"The kick," Cobb whispered in recognition. "Micah-"

"Already on it," Micah said. He grabbed Cobb, wrapping his arm around the extractor's waist while he clung onto Micah's shoulders. Ariadne grabbed the door, her gun in her hand, while Micah pulled his from his pocket.

"I'll cover you," she said. "Go straight to the cliff and jump. Don't check to make sure I follow. Just go."

Micah nodded. "Got it. Let's roll."

Ariadne studied him once more, waited for Cobb to give a consenting nod, and then threw the door open.

They were immediately attacked by projections. Micah shook off the ones nearest him as he gripped Cobb tightly, booking it to the cliff edge, which was exactly what Ariadne had told him to do. Cobb was helping as best as he could, limping in a disjointed rhythm with Micah. Micah could hear gunfire behind them, and knew Ariadne was responsible for keeping them off of him and Cobb.

And he realized why he and Ariadne made such a good team: They'd both been trained by Arthur.

But it was too late to comment on this; he'd reached the cliff. Without looking back, Micah jumped, falling with Cobb beside him.

_And his eyes were flying open, as the room collapsed around him on the second floor of Fischer's childhood home…_

_And the car was falling from the bridge, and he was tumbling out of his seat. Micah scrabbled, gasping, turning around. Arthur was sitting beside him, alive and breathing hard from the kick. He nodded when he saw Micah, his expression calm. The van tipped, and Micah grasped his seat as they fell straight down, down, hitting the water hard…_

He woke a heartbeat later, his eyes flying open. He heard a clunk and began to move quickly, his fear increasing. He sat up and took one glance around the room when his heart sank into his stomach.

_We're in trouble._

**Cliffhanger! Review, please**_  
_


	34. Cosmic Love

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**REVIEWERS! (seriously, I can't get enough of their words)- _L:_ glad to hear from you! and don't assume that 'clunk' meant a shot... _Iole17_: thanks! haha, I am kinda sorry about the cliffhanger, I didn't actively mean for it to happen... _Knuckiducki_: I KNEW you were going to wait to review so you could be number 150! love it. sorry about the evil cliffhanger! D: and they are most definitely awake. _In. Blue. 85:_ yeah I did! here ya go... _While: _Thanks! Though I've tried to make it seem like an inevitable thing, it's very possible it doesn't seem that inevitable, which is a bummer for me and the story but oh well, c'est la vie.. _LeslieSophia_: I know, I can't believe it either!_ Caliber13_: wow, that was quite the review, thanks for taking the time to write it. (See note below) Also, Cobb has been undergoing a bit of a transformation. I kind of see him as one of those people who are always so "in the moment" that it's difficult to see beyond it; hence he hasn't completely understood what it will emotionally cost him to lose Arthur. I think he's ALWAYS been completely scared for his children, but it's now just beginning to click that, oh shit, Arthur might die, too.**

**On the job: A couple people commented that the job portion of the story went by very fast. Yes, it did. For me, this story was never about the job. It was almost a MacGuffin device, just there for plot only and not for depth. If you were really looking forward to the actual job... I'm sorry to disappoint, but it never mattered to me. My writing of it was mostly "oh crap, I have to write this job thing... what's going to happen?" My only focus regarding the job was to make the psychology of it probable; i.e., their methods of turning Fischer around seemed like they could work. Writing the actual job was on the back burner compared to figuring out what Arthur was planning, what Ariadne was feeling, how Cobb was coping, how Eames was reacting, Micah and Yusuf and Browning and everyone else as well...**

**I'd like to apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. I went out of town for Thanksgiving and thought I'd have internet access, but that didn't work out. I updated as soon as I got internet back and here we are! At least this one is super long.**

**Chapter title from the beautiful song by Florence + the Machine. Perfection.**

Cosmic Love**  
**

Thursday, October 20, 2011: Los Angeles, California: The Power Plant: Ariadne

She was aware of the conference room ceiling, plain over her head, a distant ceiling fan motionless. Ariadne heard an odd _clunk_ and sat up quickly, looking ahead of her. Fischer was passed out, his head on the table. Though she was more confused than ever, she didn't bother to say anything; they needed to move. She pulled out the needle at her wrist, ready to start running.

Until she took in the scene.

Eames and Cobb were on their feet, guns raised, their expressions stern and murderous. Browning was still in his seat, looking quite stoic, Fischer passed out by his side. Browning's numerous bodyguards hovered near him, their own guns pointed: some at Eames and Cobb, and the rest on the man sitting beside Ariadne.

She looked at him, noticing he was still sitting in his chair and she wondered why he hadn't moved or drawn his own gun. Arthur's expression was quite calm, devoid of emotion. He was staring straight ahead of him, at Browning, who was staring back. Ariadne opened her mouth to say something, anything, when her eyes looked down and she noticed Arthur's hands. The tube from the PASIV was still stuck in his wrist, but was twisted at an odd angle that Ariadne thought might've been painful, but something Arthur could do nothing about because of his current state: his hands were bound together by thick rope. Frozen, her eyes ran from the rope to the long, thick chain it was attached to; she glanced down and realized the chain was locked to the table.

Arthur was trapped.

"Well done, Mr. Browning," Arthur murmured softly. He lifted his hands, illustrating how tightly the rope was wrapped around his wrists. The tube stuck out; a plastic cylinder had been clamped over it to prevent the rope from interfering with the somnacin. Her eyes flickered to Cobb and Eames, who both looked horrified. "It didn't even disturb the somnacin."

Browning's stoic expression didn't shift. "I had to do it, Mr. Zaleski." As he spoke, Ariadne watched a bodyguard approach Arthur from behind. Her breath caught as the man raised a handgun, pointing it only an inch from the back of Arthur's head.

"Of course," Arthur said, seemingly taking in the gun he undoubtedly felt behind him in stride. "But I have to say, having a needle jammed in my wrist right now is deeply uncomfortable. Ariadne, would you mind…?"

He didn't need to finish his question. Ariadne scooted forward, kneeling on the floor beside Arthur, who couldn't stand due to the chain. She reached for the tube and gripped Arthur's forearm as she pulled it out. The tube was so small that the tightness of the rope was barely depressed. She coiled it back to the PASIV.

"Thank you," Arthur said quietly. She nodded, but didn't move, keeping one hand on Arthur's arm. She put the other in his hand, and he squeezed her hand with both of his. She stared into his eyes, unable to understand how he could be so calm.

"What happens now?" The question came from Eames. Out of the corner of her eye, Ariadne could see Yusuf shuffling awkwardly around the table to join Eames and Cobb. She could hear rustling behind her and wondered what Micah's expression looked like.

"That is up to Mr. Zaleski," Browning replied. He turned to Arthur, who finally tore his gaze away from Ariadne to meet his. She swallowed at the darkness in his face. Browning spoke again, words that sent a chill down her spine: "How would you like to die, Mr. Zaleski?"

"I'd much prefer to not have my hands tied," Arthur said, not missing a beat.

Browning's eyes narrowed. "Forgive me, but I can't allow that. I think we both know why."

"I see," Arthur said smoothly. "Well, that's unfortunate." Ariadne gripped his hand more tightly in hers, unable to believe what she was hearing. She stared at his face, slowly becoming aware of how her head was shaking at his words.

"No, no, no," she whispered brokenly.

Arthur sighed, ever so softly, and slid out of the chair to kneel with her. He dropped her hand, lifting his to her face, gripping the bottom of her face in his bound hands.

"We talked about this," he reminded her.

Her tears were coming. She wished she was as strong as him, so that she wouldn't cry in front of his murderer, that he wouldn't get that satisfaction from her. "I can't lose you," she croaked. Arthur just looked at her so fondly, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. But then the bodyguard took a small step forward, and pressed his gun to the back of Arthur's head, and she broke.

"Don't fucking shoot him," she spat. "Get away from him." The bodyguard merely blinked at her, a big man full of brawn and muscle. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she was on her feet and she had grabbed the man's wrist and shoved it and the gun to the side, away from Arthur's head. The man retaliated and Ariadne didn't duck fast enough; she was saved from being slapped across the face by Arthur, who grabbed a handful of her blouse and yanked her back to the floor.

"Don't touch her," Arthur said firmly, glaring at the man. He'd barely gotten the words out when the man decked him, sending him sprawling back, his bound hands the only thing keeping him in place. Ariadne reached forward, but the bodyguard merely pointed his gun at Arthur's head again.

"One more step," he warned her, his tone telling her what he intended to do. She looked at Arthur, seeing his cheek turn an unnatural shade of bright red, as he sat on his knees again, flexing his arms, which had been jerked roughly.

Ariadne felt like her throat closed up when he met her eyes and minutely shook his head, telling her to stay where she was.

She spun around to face Browning. "How can you do this?" She demanded. "How can you live with yourself? He just finished a job for you!"

"Ari-"

She ignored Arthur, continuing her rant on Browning. Browning looked surprised by her reaction, the break down she was currently having. He watched, mildly interested, as she spoke.

"I won't beg for his life," she said sharply. "I won't give you that satisfaction, Mr. Browning. But I want you to know that if you kill him, I will spend the rest of my life looking for you, and I won't stop until you've lost someone you love like I love him."

"Fighting words, Ms. Chopin," Browning said fluidly. "All the more interesting by the fact you were so quick to deny you felt anything at all for your point man. But I've known you love him since the beginning. It's… unexpected, seeing you fall apart now."

"Unexpected?" It came from Eames. She turned, surprised by the emotion and fury in the forger's face. "You're about to execute the man she loves right in front of her!"

Browning turned to Eames, eyebrows raised. "She doesn't have to be here when he dies. That's completely Mr. Zaleski's decision."

Ariadne turned back to Arthur, who'd been watching the discussion in silence. He turned to her, his eyes dark and determined, and she knew what his answer would be.

"No," she croaked. "No, _dammit_, Arthur, I'm not leaving you-"

"Yes, you are," Arthur replied. He reached out for her and she scurried to his side, ignoring the gun so near to them. "Trust me. You don't want to be here for that."

She shook her head. "I don't want you to be alone…"

He cracked a smile. "Everyone dies alone, love."

"It is a shame," Browning agreed mildly. She and Arthur glanced over to Browning, and Ariadne gripped Arthur's arms so as to restrain herself from attacking the man. "Did you ever imagine this was how the end would come, Mr. Zaleski? After your time in Afghanistan, and everything you've endured as a dream thief?"

"That I would die for my friends?" Arthur asked mildly. "No, I didn't." He took her hand and brought it to his face, kissing her palm delicately and making Ariadne shiver with unshed tears. He smiled. "But it's probably the best reason to die, so I can handle it."

"You're an interesting man, Mr. Zaleski," Browning continued. "Possibly the greatest actor I've ever seen. You've managed to hide your feelings for your architect this entire time, only to reveal them to me now…"

Arthur smirked, not taking his eyes off of Ariadne's. "The fun you could've had, Mr. Browning… How disappointed you must be to miss it."

"I think taking your life will be enough," Browning said.

She heard Eames hiss angrily and make a move towards Browning but she was stopped from giving her own response when Arthur lifted his arms and pulled her against his chest, trapping her there. She clutched his jacket and opened her mouth to say something when she felt his lips at her ear.

"_Second left inside pocket. Chain first. I'll cover you._"

Confused, but obeying, Ariadne unbuttoned Arthur's jacket and slid her hand inside, aware the movement was easily covered by how close their bodies were. She could feel his heart beating steadily, an even rhythm she tried to match hers to. She found the first pocket swiftly, and then ran her hand lightly beyond it; she could barely feel the stitching that hid the second, smaller pocket Arthur made in each of his suits. She reached inside, her hand settling on what she recognized as a Swiss army knife.

_Brilliant_. She pulled it out, and without anywhere else to put it in their proximity, she stuffed it down the front of her loose blouse.

Arthur laughed, noticing, and she raised her eyes to his, his hands comfortably resting on her back. He pressed his forehead against hers, and she was aware for the first time that the rest of the team was yelling, arguing with Browning and his bodyguards.

"Give them a reason to look away," Arthur whispered.

She smiled. "What do you suggest?"

Arthur smiled as well. "_Kiss me_."

And then she was kissing him, letting herself tilt back until she was sitting and Arthur was practically in her lap, his hands against the floor. He was kissing her, and smiling when he felt her hands grab the chain (loose with the leverage provided by Arthur moving closer to the table). She couldn't help but emit a squeak when his hands slid under her jacket, finding the gun she'd tucked in the waistband of her jeans. She felt him take it out, setting it carefully on the ground beside her.

"Ready?" He whispered against her mouth.

"Don't get shot," she replied.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured.

He took his mouth off hers, sliding it across her cheek. She turned her head, studying the lock that kept the chain wrapped around the base of the table.

"On three?" He suggested.

She nodded and he continued to brush his lips against her face. She began to count: "One, two-"

He pulled his arms up, releasing her from his embrace and she leapt forward, darting in front of him, the metal pick from the knife in hand as she gripped the lock and got to work. The bodyguard who'd been behind Arthur had no time to react before Arthur had seized the gun from the floor and shot him.

Pandemonium erupted. She could hear bullets smashing through the air above the table, but had no time to see what was happening. She could hear Arthur working the knife through the ropes around his hands.

"Done!" She cried, breathless, as the chain fell away. She spun quickly and helped Arthur shake off the remaining ropes.

They didn't have time to say anything. Arthur crawled out from under the table. He straightened and only looked once before raising her gun.

**Bang**.

Browning crumpled to the floor, his eyes wide open and empty. His neck was virtually gone: all that was left was a bloody mass of guts and vocal cords. It was, without a doubt, the grossest thing Ariadne had ever seen. She couldn't help but scream reflexively; it looked like a bad horror movie.

And then Arthur was there, throwing himself on her, as a hailstorm of bullets broke the wall where his head had been moments earlier. He tackled her to the floor, shielding her with his body. She looked up and Micah was scrambling towards her, grabbing her arm. More bullets rent the air, and she realized Arthur wasn't the only one on their team who was still firing.

Arthur got up with her. "_Move_!"

She didn't need telling twice. Running bent over, she raced to the door with Micah. Micah threw it open; Cobb grabbed it and held it as Yusuf darted past. Ariadne spilled out, Eames on her tail and Arthur right behind him.

They ran along the catwalk as Arthur jammed the door shut behind them. He hit the ground as bullets exploded in the window, shattering it and sending glass plummeting to the energy chambers below them, causing workers to scream and panic.

She spotted Yusuf and Cobb ahead of them, sprinting in the direction they'd entered in. Eames and Micah were ten feet behind when security detail appeared, forcing both men to dive over the edge of the catwalk. Eames landed on his feet and grabbed Micah, dragging him down the stairs to the bottom floor. Ariadne changed course, going directly to the stairs, running into Micah.

"Keep going!" Arthur yelled. She could practically feel his hot breath on her neck, and her heart beat furiously, frantic, because Browning was dead _but he was not_—

They tore down the stairs, landing on the concrete bottom floor of the energy chambers. More security were coming down, and Ariadne could hear furious yelling and realized Browning's bodyguards must've escaped the conference room.

"Where are we going?" Eames yelled, still in the lead.

"Straight fifty meters," Arthur yelled back. "There's an emergency exit that goes by the water."

Eames showed no sign of hearing but continued to press on. In front of her, Micah was panting in fear but refusing to slow down. Ariadne desperately wanted to turn around, to grab Arthur and hold him and cry in relief—

She should've known it wasn't going to be that easy.

"_Look out!_"

Micah's warning came too late as a group of at least six suited men (no simple security guards; Browning had been prepared) stepped out from six different doorways in the hall. Ariadne threw herself into a side hallway, Micah moments ahead of her as the bullets rang down around them. Eames had been luckier; he was several hallways past them.

"Shit," Micah gasped. Ariadne pushed her hair out of the way, sitting up as she saw why.

Arthur, who'd landed right behind her, was gasping, his hand on his abdomen. He lifted it, and she saw the bright red blood spreading over his white dress shirt.

"No," she gasped. She reached for him, but he shook his head.

"Help me up."

She did, wrapping an arm around Arthur's waist and pulling him to his feet. She could feel his blood staining her hand. Micah hovered near them.

"What can I do?" The student demanded. "What can I do? _What can I do!?_"

"Shut up, Micah," Arthur snapped. He opened his eyes, and Ariadne wanted to cry at the obvious pain in them. "Where's Eames?"

Micah waved his hand in Eames' general direction. "Gone. It's just us."

Ariadne was shaking. "Arthur, this place is a labyrinth…" She was looking around, but she could only see hallways. She could hear running feet and knew the bodyguards were close. On her left, a little ways away, was a door to a utility closet.

"Look, Arthur," she said urgently, nodding at it.

Micah was relieved, but Arthur wasn't. He frowned, studying the closet with a poker face that confused her. He turned, to look at his left, across the hallway from the closet. It was an open elevator shaft, caution tape showing that it wasn't working and was undergoing construction as part of the remodel.

"Let's go," Arthur said suddenly, taking a step towards the door. Micah nodded and threw the door open, holding it for Ariadne to help Arthur stumble through. Arthur slammed it shut and seized a nearby broom, improvising a lock.

Ariadne left Arthur leaning against the wall, still clutching his stomach and his gun. She raced to the high window and stood on a bucket to undo the catch. The room was fairly clean; the closet wasn't used much. Micah appeared at her shoulder and together, they pushed the window open.

"Micah," Arthur said. Micah clambered through the window, Ariadne shoving on his feet to give him a boost as he hauled himself over the edge. It was small, and he barely managed to squeeze through. He landed on the dry dirt and grass that ran along the edge of the building. Pounding on the door made Ariadne's heart turn to ice.

"Your turn, Ari."

Ariadne felt Arthur's hands wrap around her waist as Micah leaned back in the window, offering her his own. With the two men helping, she crawled through the window, landing beside Micah and spinning around quickly. The pounding on the door intensified.

"Come on, Arthur," she said urgently, holding her hands out. He was still standing there, his face just lower than hers, when instead of taking her hands, he placed his own urgently on her face. She could feel marks on his wrists from where the rope had dug into them.

He kissed her furiously, open-mouthed, clutching her face in his hands. She could feel his heart beating against the palm of her hand, he'd moved so close to the wall in order to reach her. She kissed him back, confused.

Arthur stepped back a moment later and smiled.

"Ariadne," he whispered. "It's time to let me go." She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to ask what was going on, when Arthur raised his eyes, turning to Micah. His voice was calm when he hissed, "Now, Micah." At the same time he spoke, the first bullets broke through the door.

She felt strong arms lock around her at the same time Arthur let her go. Ariadne's mouth remained open as she watched Arthur lift his gun, turning around, ready.

And Micah was tugging on her, easily pulling her back outside the window and leaning against the wall beside her. "We have to be quiet, don't move."

And Ariadne finally realized what was about to happen a moment before it did.

She could only see Arthur's back, his gun raised and ready, apparently oblivious to the blood that was still pooling on his front and dripping onto the floor. She watched him, tall and proud, when the door finally broke and men spilled into the room. Arthur managed to shoot five of them before they got close enough to him to touch him.

An arm suddenly snaked out and grabbed Arthur by the tie. Ariadne gasped and opened her mouth to scream, but Micah's hand landed on her mouth.

"_Don't_. We have to stay quiet."

They were still against the wall, but curved towards it, both desperate to see even though there was nothing good to watch. Micah was more dragging/holding Ariadne than anything else, preventing her from jumping back through the window. She watched the scene in the closet play out in muted horror.

Arthur was hauled into the main hallway, blood still spewing from the bullet wound in his side. It was obvious that the bodyguards were too focused on him to see Micah and Ariadne by the open window; they left the closet door open, and Ariadne and Micah could see everything. A man in a suit tossed Arthur forward, throwing him through the air like he was a small child. Arthur fell towards the elevator shaft, only stopping himself by dropping his gun and grabbing either side of it. He spun around quickly to face his assailants, still gripping either side of the elevator. He remained there, on the ledge, as a man stepped forward, gun pressed to Arthur's chest.

The man demanded something of him. Ariadne couldn't hear what it was, but Arthur could. His eyes slid past the man, and landed on Ariadne. He smiled.

**Bang**.

Ariadne had heard, from Arthur, that there are moments in our lives we never forget, moments that remain with us for eternity, a phenomena called the flashbulb memory. When something terrible happens, we remember everything about it: from what we were wearing, to where we were, to what we were doing. It happened to people when J.F.K. died. Then again on 9/11.

And it happened to Ariadne when she watched the love of her life fall.

The bullet buried itself in his chest, the left side, the place she knew his heart to be, _because her hand had just been there, and how many times had she laid her head on his chest, listening to it beat?_ She watched as the blood blossomed, almost like a flower, something that could've been maybe pretty in any other situation.

Arthur's hands slackened, and he let go of the edges of the elevator entrance. She stared, entranced, as he fell backward, his body tipping over the edge as he fell down the open shaft, tumbling, _falling_…

And then he was gone.

She couldn't even hear his body hit the ground.

She opened her mouth to scream, to say something, anything, but no sound came out. She was aware of the bodyguards turning away from the elevator shaft and yelling as they spotted her and Micah. But it was too late, because Micah had slammed the window shut and was standing and hauling her to her feet.

"Come on!" Micah's voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away, and not from right next to her as he tugged her away from the shadows of the building. Sunlight was pouring over them, and he was tugging on her hand, breaking into a sprint around the side of the power plant. She ran in a twisted fashion, her eyes locked on the window as she moved further away from it.

And her voice returned.

"No!" She screamed it, positively wailed it. "_No_! Oh, please, _Arthur_, no! I won't leave you!" Micah's hand jerked as she stopped running, digging her feet in the sand as she turned to go back.

Eames was suddenly there, his arms wrapping around her as he stopped her.

"Micah, keep going," he said calmly, his voice like shrapnel. She struggled in his arms.

"Edward, we have to go back! Arthur's back there-"

"Ariadne, listen to me," Eames said, cutting her off, staring into her eyes, his own oddly muted. "_Arthur Zaleski is dead_. All we'd be doing is going back for his body, at the risk of our lives. And trust me, that is nowhere near what he wants us to do right now."

She deflated as Eames spoke, and he took the opportunity to pick her up, throwing her over his back like a sack of potatoes.

"No, no, no," she wailed, pounding on his back like a child as he broke into a run. "Edward, he might be alive! We can't just leave him!" She changed tack quickly, yelling for Arthur again, begging him to hear her and respond: "Arthur! Oh _please_, oh _God_, no, don't let him be dead, please _no_!" Eames only gripped her more tightly in response. "_I can't leave him!_" She cried, angrily.

She heard tires screeching and couldn't help but look around curiously. The van was back, Yusuf in the front, Cobb beside him. Micah was already opening the door. Eames threw her bodily into the van and climbed in. Micah slammed the door.

"Go!" Micah yelled. "Arthur's not coming!" Yusuf didn't need telling twice. The car protested as he whipped the wheel around, pulling away from the power plant.

Ariadne sat up from where she'd landed in the backseat. "Guys, we have to go back. Arthur's still alive!"

"How do you know?" Cobb demanded, spinning around. Tears were streaming down his face. "What happened back there?"

"Ariadne…" Micah twisted around in his seat, and she could see that he was crying. He reached over and took her hands. "Ariadne, Arthur is dead..."

"I saw the whole thing," Eames confirmed. "I was watching from another hallway, but I couldn't do anything…"

Cobb looked frustrated. "_Someone tell me what the hell happened!_"

"We got separated," Micah murmured. "We were on the bottom floor of the plant, running down these hallways… And then Browning's bodyguards showed up and started firing."

"I got away," Eames added. "I was ahead of them. I managed to get out through a side door."

Micah nodded. "It was Arthur, Ariadne and me, hiding in a side hallway. It was bad; Arthur had been shot in the stomach, like you had on the third level, Dom." Cobb's face was frozen. "But then Ariadne saw a closet. We all went inside, and there was a window, I went out and Ariadne followed and we went back for Arthur… But he just looked at us… And then he kissed her, and then he said… Well, I didn't hear-"

"He…" Everyone looked at Ariadne. She was trembling, but no tears had come. "He said, 'It's time to let me go.'"

Micah swallowed stiffly. "Yeah… Arthur looked at me and he said, 'Now, Micah.' And I knew he was going to sacrifice himself for us. So I grabbed Ariadne and I pulled her out next to me. But we could see everything that was happening… One of the bodyguards grabbed Arthur and dragged him out to the hallway… There was this elevator shaft, empty and everything because it was under construction. Arthur was hanging on to it. One of the guys pointed a gun at his heart and said something, but all Arthur did was smile… And they shot him." Micah shook his head, running his hands over his hair in desperation, his speech turning to anxious babble. "Oh my God, they shot him. In the chest. There was so much blood… And then he fell into the elevator shaft."

"See?" Ariadne cried. Everyone looked at her again, and she wondered how demented she looked. "He might not be dead!"

"Love," Eames said gently. She was horrified to see that even he was having a hard time staying composed now. "Arthur was shot twice, once through the heart. And then he fell into an elevator shaft, falling who knows how many stories…"

"There's a chance!" Ariadne cried, wrenching her hands out of Micah's. "We have to go back! He could be lying there, in so much pain-"

She gasped suddenly, her hysteria catching up to her.

"Eames," Cobb called. Eames moved back, sitting beside her, as Ariadne gasped. She couldn't breathe. There was no air. All she could see was Arthur's broken body, blood sliding out of his mouth as he, too, struggled to breathe.

_And then she was lying on the long beach chair again, a long stab wound on her torso, and Arthur's face was hovering over hers…_

_"Breathe with me…"_

"Deep breaths, love," Eames murmured, gripping her hands. "In, out, in, out-"

"He's dead," she whispered. "Oh my God, oh my _God_… He can't be dead… _He can't be dead! He can't be dead!_"

"She's hyperventilating!" Micah said, looking scared. "Shit, what do we do? What do we do?" He was quivering, his tears falling freely.

"SHUT UP!"

Cobb's shout made them all freeze. Ariadne stilled, turning to stare at Cobb in the front seat. He looked utterly demented, his hair sticking out in desperate tufts, his eyes wild with pain.

"Here's the plan." He took a deep breath and reached into his jacket pocket. "We have to go. Get away from here, as far as we can. Arthur and I got everyone tickets." Sure enough, he revealed a stack of airplane tickets.

"Yusuf, you're going to Miami," Cobb said. "Micah, to Chicago; you can easily get a flight to Boston once you're sure you don't have a tail. Eames, you're headed to Philadelphia. Ariadne, you're going to Washington, D.C." He still held an extra ticket in his hand after they'd been passed out.

"Where was Arthur going?" Micah whispered.

Cobb sighed. "New York." Ariadne stretched out her hand, and Cobb automatically passed the ticket to her. She opened it, reading the neatly typed letters forming the name 'Arthur Collette,' who was supposed to be on Flight 447 from LAX to JFK, leaving in fifty minutes, and closed her eyes tightly.

"What about you?" Yusuf asked.

Cobb looked resigned. "I have to stay here and find my children."

"Here." Ariadne watched as Eames leaned forward. He passed a crumpled piece of paper to Cobb, who unfolded it gingerly.

"What is it?" Micah asked.

"Addresses," Cobb said, puzzled. "What-"

"Arthur gave it to me." Ariadne forced herself to breathe evenly as Eames spoke. "Right before we went inside. Said he'd been researching, trying to figure out where Browning had your kids, Cobb. He's been working on this since Day 1."

Cobb closed his eyes, holding the paper tightly. "God dammit, Arthur."

"I'll need to exchange my ticket," Eames said, reaching into the back and pulling out one of his bags. He proceeded to rifle through it.

"Where are you going?" Yusuf asked.

"To Washington," Eames replied. He lifted his head, meeting Ariadne's gaze. He looked somber but determined. "Arthur wanted me to take you back to Paris, and I will."

She was pretty sure he was also coming to make sure she didn't stay in Los Angeles, waiting for them to clear so she could return to the plant to search for Arthur's body.

"What the…" Eames suddenly trailed off, his eyes widening.

"What is it?" Ariadne whispered.

Without a word, Eames lifted his hand from the inside of his bag. He was holding a boarding pass. He opened it, revealing the information: it was a ticket for Edward Eames, for Flight 289, from LAX to Washington-Dulles, leaving in forty minutes.

Ariadne didn't need to check hers to know it was the same.

"That bugger," Eames murmured in amazement.

Micah blinked. "He really did think of everything."

Ariadne wanted to say something, she really did. But it was hard to speak when her insides felt so twisted and everything seemed to be on fire. Her eyes were open, and she was constantly replaying that last moment, when Arthur looked at her…

And fell into the elevator shaft.

"Why?" She whispered brokenly. She found herself curling into her seat. She was dimly aware that Eames and Micah were speaking, but she ignored them, holding herself tightly. "Why? Why did he have to die? Why couldn't he stay with me?" She choked on her own breath. "Why am I leaving him? What's the point?"

_Arthur was falling, falling…_

In what felt like no time at all, they were at LAX, screeching to a stop in the load/unload zone. Eames' face swam in her vision.

"Ariadne," he said seriously. "It's time to go."

_"It's time to let me go."_

She obeyed Eames' instructions, sliding out of the van and automatically taking the bag Eames passed her. She felt like she was in a fog as she followed Eames into the airport, Micah by her side. The student was doing well, but his façade was wearing down. Tear tracks stained his freckles, and his glasses were fogged.

She stood in line with the team, looking around and trying very hard to not think of anything, especially not the last time she'd been at the airport.

_And in the next moment, she was wrapped in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder, where she inhaled deeply, breathing in the warm scent of aftershave, and she was home._

_She felt him breathe, his lungs inhaling next to hers. His voice was soft when he spoke, lips whispering into her ear. "It's good to see you."_

She blinked…

_Arthur was lying on the bottom of the elevator shaft, two holes clean through his torso. His auburn eyes were wide open and he was choking on his own blood as his hands scrabbled, searching for her, his mouth struggling to call out her name—_

"He's dead," she whispered to herself. Eames' arm tightened around her shoulders when he heard her toneless voice.

But she didn't know for sure. How could she leave him?

_"You're waiting for a train…"_

No, she was waiting for an airplane…

_"A train that will take you far away…"_

This was true, Washington was on the East Coast. She'd never been to that city before…

_"You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can't know for sure…"_

No, she was certain that the plane was going to Washington, they organized that kind of thing…

_"Yet it doesn't matter. Why?"_

And she was fighting her tears, because they were not together. She was running, the coward she was, while the man she loved was left behind, she was willingly leaving him here—

"Keep it together, Ari," Eames whispered in her ear as they went through security. Micah's face was devastatingly impassive, and when he stepped back to help Yusuf move his things through she realized his transformation was complete: he really was the new Arthur.

"It matters, Edward," she croaked. "It matters."

To her amazement, he knew what she was talking about. "I know you're not with him. But you're with me. And I'll stay with you."

They got out of security and were standing in the terminal, near a board stating the departures. Everyone's flight was on time, the miniscule typed numbers neat as they confirmed their separation.

Ariadne was still when Yusuf reached forward and warmly hugged her.

"I am so sorry for your loss," he told her earnestly. "Arthur was a good man. I respected him." He stepped back as he spoke, squeezing one of her hands tightly in his. She blinked, unsure how to respond. Yusuf didn't need a response though. Instead, he reached into his pocket and passed her a business card, stating his name and the address and phone number of his business in Mombasa.

"If you need anything," he said curtly. "Or if you just wish to talk to Makena. She'd be delighted to speak to you again."

She nodded. "I'm glad you're going back to her."

"I am too," Yusuf agreed. He shook hands with Micah and Eames, informing them that he would be keeping his distance from dream heists for at least a year and to not bother him at home. Both men nodded; Ariadne wondered if Yusuf wasn't the only one who wouldn't be dreaming for at least a year.

It was only when Yusuf had walked away to his gate that Ariadne realized something: she'd never said goodbye to Cobb.

"Wait, Dom…"

Eames shook his head. "He didn't say goodbye to us either. Just nodded and left before we got to security. The son of a bitch."

"He has to move fast," Ariadne murmured. "To find his kids before Browning's associates realize he's dead…"

Micah swallowed. "Isn't it square though? Sure, Browning's dead, but they got Arthur." His voice trembled but he powered on. "Why would Browning's men keep holding Cobb's kids hostage?"

"Money," Eames said stiffly. "Maybe revenge."

She blinked. "So much blood…" Eames and Micah exchanged a glance; it was obvious they were both a little lost as to what to say. Arthur hadn't given them instructions about that.

All too soon, they were at Micah's gate. The student looked awkward as he shook Eames' hand.

"I don't really know what to say," he admitted.

"I don't blame you," Eames replied quietly. "You should know, Micah, that this kind of thing never happens. We all usually make it out okay. We all wake up. This is completely…"

Micah nodded. "I know. And I'll come to terms with it one day. But for now, I really do just want to go back to school and finish my degree."

"Here." Eames passed a business card to Micah. "If you decide you want to do it again." He smiled sadly and gripped Micah's shoulder. "You know, Arthur was right about you. You're more than what meets the eye."

"Thank you," Micah whispered. He turned to Ariadne and she didn't hesitate in jumping into his arms. He hugged her tightly, skinnier and less muscular than Arthur, but somehow still similar.

"I'm sorry, Ariadne," he murmured into her ear. "He really loved you."

"I know," she breathed. If there was anything she knew, it was that. Arthur had loved her.

Micah's breath caught. "I tried to save him. I _wanted_ to save him. But he wouldn't let me."

"Micah," she whispered, taking a step back and looking into his blue eyes. "I know." She took a deep breath and added, "I think he loved you, in his own way. He trusted you, and that's saying something. He was certainly proud of you."

"Thank you," Micah said quietly. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Yes," Ariadne said, surprised at her answer. She considered it, and then nodded. "Yes, I think so."

Micah smiled at her, and gave Eames his own smile. He looked at the two of them and then turned quite abruptly, walking away without another word. Ariadne and Eames watched him go, walking towards his gate.

"He'll be okay," Eames said.

She nodded. "Yes, I think he will be."

Before she quite knew what was happening, an announcer was telling them it was time to board the plane for Flight 289, non-stop service to Washington, D.C. Ariadne felt Eames' hand in hers as he led her to the gate. She handed over her boarding pass, keeping her eyes downcast and reflecting on how lucky she was that the gate attendant wasn't on top of his game. She was completely aware of how terrible she looked.

She closed her eyes as she laid down in her seat.

**Yes, I wasn't kidding. But the story isn't over quite yet. There are still a few loose ends to tie-up, and a few characters to revisit. I cannot stress this and plead this enough: Please, bear with me until the very end.**

**And so we say goodbye to Micah Harper and Yusuf. But not the last of Cobb...**

**Review, please.**


	35. This Night

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Reviewers! (I was terrified to read all of your reviews, honestly)- _Shanynde_: I don't hate you, I expect you're in the majority there! And I'm thrilled you reviewed, thanks. _Guest_: You can join Shanynde's camp then! :D thank you for the compliment. _L:_ haha, no worries on the typo. I didn't exactly mean to give you hope and then pull the carpet out like that; mostly just considering how Browning might've approached the situation. Regarding an Ariadne/Eames thing... I think you'll like this chapter. _Caliber13_: thanks, and gosh, I guess you really did like the writing! Ugh I hate weak female characters... I swear I never intended to do that, things just happened that way, I suppose; this has always been more of Arthur's story. _In. Blue. 85_: oh gosh, crying!? way to quote Micah, I love it! thanks for reviewing, and we'll see... _Iole17: _Sorry! I feel really bad... I hope you keep reading. _Knuckiducki_: thanks for the reassurance! new chapter for ya right here. _Lazarus76_: hello! and thank you very much! _MajesticMoments_: haha, I feel you regarding the only reading completed stories. I very rarely read fan fiction (honestly) so this isn't a huge issue for me, but I get it. and thank you for the nice comments! _While_: I was waiting for someone to call me out on that; it drives me crazy when villains in movies prolong the death of their enemy. That would NEVER happen in real life. But I didn't have Browning shoot Arthur right away because-where's the drama in that!? and two, Browning is a bit of an egomaniac, all-powerful nut who'd want to see him suffer a bit. Regarding the writing... Very interesting! I thought "Cosmic Love" was one of my more well-written chapters, matter of fact. It was definitely the one I spent the longest writing, editing and re-writing; maybe I should just not do that? ;)**

**Knuckiducki said in a review a couple chapters back that she thought she saw some hesitation in Browning on the second level. I didn't mean to imply he was hesitating in his opinion on Arthur's future; I think he was hesitating because he hadn't known, until then, that Arthur loved Ariadne. He knew she loved him, but he didn't know they were together.**

**Chapter title from the song by Black Lab. Pretty angst-y, but you probably expect that.**

This Night**  
**

Friday, October 21, 2011: Paris, France: Charles de Gaulle Airport: Eames

Eames wasn't sure he'd ever felt so sick.

He gazed out the window as the plane began to lower itself over the City of Lights. He could see the Eiffel Tower, twinkling in all its glory, dwarfing the darkness that was the sea of beautiful architecture around it. They'd circled a couple times, yet the sight of so much beauty did nothing to appease Eames' nausea.

He looked down, where Ariadne was curled tightly in her chair, the blanket Eames had tucked over her still wrapped exactly the same. She hadn't moved at all since the plane had taken off from Washington. She hadn't said a word, not even to protest Eames' buying them (and bribing the worker in the process) first class tickets for the next flight to Paris.

Eames reflected on how small she looked, the way her chin was tucked into her chest. Her hands were clenched tightly into fists, her breathing even: but he was pretty sure she wasn't sleeping. Heaven knew he hadn't slept a wink either.

The plane was dropping lower and lower, and then, with a soft bump, they landed.

Ariadne's eyes flew open, like the touch down of the plane had acted as a kick. She was breathing harder now, her hands grasping her knees.

"Ariadne?" Eames asked quietly. She turned, looking at him and her eyes widened. And he knew that she'd been so far gone in her exhaustion that a part of her had been expecting Arthur to be sitting next to her.

She swallowed. "Edward."

"Welcome home, love."

Ariadne sat up slowly, looking out the window at the harsh lights of the airport.

Night had fallen over the city; they'd had to loiter in Washington for a while, to make sure Browning's men hadn't followed them. In Washington, he'd suggested that maybe they should make a detour, just in case.

"There's a flight in ten minutes to Madrid," he'd said, pointing it out on the departures board. "One in half an hour to Stockholm, one in thirty-five minutes to Shannon…"

She'd shaken her head, her face set. "Edward, I am going to one of two places: Paris, like he wanted me to, or Los Angeles, to find his body." And Eames had no choice.

Eames watched as she took in the small bits of Paris she could see.

She sighed deeply, finally responding to his last statement. "Not anymore."

They exited the airplane, walking closely together to baggage claim. Eames felt like a fish out of water, surrounded by the native French speakers. He'd never mastered the language; he'd always been a Spanish man, spending the time he was out of England in Spain or Portugal.

They gathered their bags at the claim. They attracted several stares for this, because they had a ridiculously large amount for two people. Eames wanted to yell at them to explain that the reason there were so many was because they hadn't been able to leave behind their dead friend's belongings. But Eames managed to keep his face straight as he stacked Arthur's bags beside their own on the cart.

Outside, Ariadne hailed a cab, her face impassive in the rain that was drenching Paris that night. Eames shoved their bags into the trunk of the cab, climbing in after Ariadne.

She leaned forward, speaking in a monotone voice to the driver, giving him an address in the sixth arrondissement. As the driver nodded, it hit Eames that he was about to find out where Arthur and Ariadne lived.

They drove through the busy streets of Paris, filled with partygoers and tourists trying to escape the torrential rain. Eames and Ariadne didn't speak. They looked out of their separate windows, watching as they passed cafes, hotels, theatres, parks, fountains and the Seine.

After a while, they reached the front of a jaw-droppingly nice apartment building. Eames gawked at it as he followed Ariadne out. She strode straight inside the building, the guard nodding warmly at her (he recognized her, at least) and returning moments later with a carrier for their luggage, the kind Eames often saw at airports and hotels.

She didn't say a word as they loaded the luggage and Eames paid the driver with the euros he'd gotten while they were waiting in Washington. Ariadne led the way into the building, going straight for the elevator at the end of the hall. He got on with her, watching as she calmly pressed the button for the fourth floor.

They rode up on the elevator, listening to the muted piano music through the system, until with a soft ding, they arrived on the fourth floor.

There were only two apartments. Ariadne walked to the second one, fishing a key from the side pocket of her shoulder bag. He hovered behind her as she pushed the key into the lock, turning it with a click. She pushed the door open, but stilled.

"What is it?" Eames asked.

Without a word, she knelt down, her hands feeling over the doormat. Eames stared as Ariadne straightened, clutching a tiny piece of wood in her hands.

"Primitive security system," she murmured. Dimly, Eames recalled Arthur doing this many times, always finding a way to guard the warehouse or office they were working in. "No one's been here."

She pushed the door open all the way and walked inside.

Eames wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he was almost certain this wasn't it. Ariadne and Arthur's apartment was… elegant. He hovered in the dining room, running his hand along the thick wooden table. He turned, looking at the long line of windows that showed a magnificent view, the Seine in the distance. The furniture was mismatched, antiques. The kitchen was more modern, thick granite countertops and shiny appliances. He quickly dropped the bags in the hallway, ducking out to return the cart and returning within moments.

"Here…" Ariadne reappeared, clutching a stack of blankets in her arms. She set them on the coffee table, beside a leather sofa. "There should be crackers and soup in the cupboards, maybe some fruit if it hasn't spoiled yet… You can sleep here. We—I, don't have a spare bedroom. Sorry."

She straightened, running a hand through her hair. She looked utterly exhausted; Eames was amazed she hadn't passed out.

"I should probably give you a tour," she whispered.

"No," Eames said, shaking his head determinedly. He hurried to her side, touching her arm. "Please, don't. It's fine, Ari. It's fine. Do you need anything?"

She shook her head. "I just want to sleep, Edward."

He nodded. "I think I can help. Hang on." He hurried back to the hallway where he'd abandoned his bags. He picked up his suitcase and dragged it over to the table, heaving it up and unzipping it. Curious, Ariadne approached his shoulder, watching.

Eames continued to dig as he spoke. "Water?"

Ariadne disappeared, walking into the kitchen and grabbing two glasses of water, filling them up swiftly. She returned and Eames held up the small vial of white powder.

She stared. "It's a sedative."

"My own personal supply," Eames confirmed. "Never leave home without it. Interested?"

"Yes please," she whispered. Eames carefully measured out two healthy doses, pouring them into the glasses of water. Ariadne watched, almost fascinated, as the white powder settled and then vanished.

"Dreamless sleep," Eames murmured.

She lifted her eyes to his. "Thank you, Edward."

He clinked his glass with hers. "Sweet dreams, love." He watched as she downed the water, immediately swaying as the sedative set in. Eames quickly set down his own untouched glass, catching her before she fell. She mumbled something unintelligible into his shoulder as he shifted her to carry her bridal style. They were both still wearing the outfits they'd worn during the job; their clothes were severely wrinkled. The only article of clothing they'd changed was Ariadne's shirt. She'd changed on the plane, after taking off her jacket and realizing the dark stain over her middle was Arthur's blood. Rather than throw it away though, she'd folded the shirt neatly into her bag, where it remained. Eames thought this morbid, but knew better than to comment.

Eames carried Ariadne down a narrow hallway, taking stock of the rooms and decorations he passed. He could see paintings of Paris, the city and its architecture, on the walls. He counted what he guessed was a hall closet and recognized a small bathroom. There was another door, but it was closed; he wondered what it was, since it wasn't the guest bedroom.

He gently pushed open the door to the room at the end of the hall, and found himself standing in Arthur and Ariadne's bedroom.

The walls were a plain off-white, the lights of the cars casting shadows on them from the window. It was closed, but the blinds hadn't been drawn yet; there was even a window seat under it. The bed was in the center of the room, neatly made, covered by a light blue comforter with a tan quilt at the foot. Eames studied the bedside stands, and guessed Ariadne's side was on the one covered in notebooks and pens. The other side featured a stack of books and an alarm clock. There was a door to the master bathroom, open; he could see a large bathtub directly under a window. The doors to the large closet were shut.

He laid Ariadne down on the side he supposed was hers, reaching back and covering her with the quilt. She didn't protest, or even make a sound. She just clung on tightly to the quilt.

Eames looked at her for a moment, feeling like his heart was about to explode from the pain of seeing how lost she looked. He imagined how this scene would've played out if he'd been the one who'd been killed. He imagined Ariadne lying here, under the quilt; but with Arthur beside her, spooning her, kissing her neck and murmuring reassurances, his own features subdued with the respect he'd retained for Eames. He imagined Ariadne's breathing becoming even as she fell asleep, Arthur's arms around her, his own eyes closing with sleep, and not death-

Eames shook his head, rubbed his eyes.

_It should've been me_, he thought to himself.

He walked back down the hallway, gently closing the door to the bedroom behind him.

Eames stood in the living room for a long moment, simply surveying the scene. The car horns and busy sounds of Paris were the only things that broke the silence in the gloom. He felt like he was intruding on something, something so personal and intimate, he couldn't even fathom it. His hand went into his pocket, and he fingered the sapphire ring in relief and despair.

_Reality. No waking from this nightmare._

He went into the cupboards of the kitchen, searching through the food left behind. He eventually found what he was looking for: vodka. Pleased, he wasted no time in pouring himself a shot and downing it.

It wasn't that Eames wasn't tired. He was exhausted; but he wasn't ready to sleep yet. He wanted to see if he could recover something of this day, any semblance of normalcy.

He couldn't help but keep glancing at Arthur's bags, dropped in the middle of the hallway where he'd abandoned them. A perverse part of him wondered what mementos Arthur had left behind, other notes or instructions for Eames and Ariadne to find. Before he was quite aware of what he was doing, he'd pulled Arthur's shoulder bag forward and started going through it.

He found the expected things: his laptop, notebooks, regular novels (who knew Arthur read "1984" so obsessively, judging by how dog-eared the book was) and dutifully written notes on the job, Fischer, Browning, the power plant (a shiver went up Eames' spine when he saw how Arthur had noted a couple elevators were under construction) and the team.

But then there were the odd things. An iPod, tucked in a side pocket (the last song Arthur had listened to? The Beatles' "Across the Universe"; Eames wondered how much he should read into that.) He dug more and found a small bundle of receipts, receipts that told him Arthur had rented wetsuits and surfboards three days previously at a place in Huntington Beach (so that's where Micah and Arthur had gone), bought cupcakes at a grocery store in Oceanside (must've been with his family, Eames realized) and then numerous receipts for gas stations across Los Angeles and the greater area. Eames was careful to stack the receipts together; just in case Ariadne wanted to see them, physical proof that Arthur had lived.

And then, in another zipped pocket, he found the passports and IDs.

There were so many, for so many different Arthurs: Arthur Gervais, Arthur Nolan, Arthur Flickerman and of course, Arthur Collette. Not a single one was for Arthur Zaleski. Eames studied the passports, amazed and impressed with how authentic each looked. He was a forger, and even he would've found it difficult to doubt the authenticity of them. He couldn't imagine what Arthur's wallet must've looked like, filled with credit cards for all these different Arthurs.

_He didn't think we'd get his bags_, Eames realized at why there was nothing about Arthur Zaleski. He wanted to cover his tracks.

So he was surprised when he found a napkin addressed to Mr. Ed.

Eames picked it up from where it'd been tucked inside the passport for Arthur Collette. He opened it up, stunned to see a message in Arthur's distinct handwriting.

_Remember what I said. Leave when she asks you to._

And then, an arrow directing him to turn it over…

_Thanks_.

Eames felt a shiver, and he ran his hands over his arms, feeling unnaturally cold. Arthur had known Eames would search his bags if he found them. He wouldn't have wanted to leave a message like that in one of Eames' bags, in case Eames was caught and they somehow connected the writing back to Arthur…

"You were too good," Eames muttered. Arthur was, without a doubt, the most brilliant and skilled dream stealer Eames had ever known.

He badly wanted a cigarette. Eames abandoned Arthur's bags in the hall and walked over to an armchair beside the window. He opened the window, letting the cool, wet air drift in. He found a pack of matches beside a small grouping of candles on the coffee table, and used them to light the cigarette he pulled from his jacket pocket.

Eames inhaled deeply, letting the calming nicotine wash over him. He couldn't believe what had happened in the last forty-eight hours. His mind kept replaying the scene of Arthur's death, witnessed through a small hallway window. He'd watched it at an angle, from the end of the hallway, and had only seen Arthur in profile, as the point man grasped the edges of the elevator, blood dripping from the bullet hole in his side. He remembered how violently one of the bodyguards shoved a gun into his chest, hissing something at him. Eames had been unable to see Arthur's response, or even his face, but it hadn't been a shock when the bodyguard pulled the trigger and Arthur's chest exploded in a wave of bright red blood.

And then he'd fallen, his feet the last parts of him Eames could see.

He remembered how he'd taken off, racing back around the power plant just as Micah and Ariadne spilled around the corner. He would never forget the look on Ariadne's face as the reality of what she'd witnessed sunk in.

She'd fought Micah, shaking him off and taking a step back, to run inside and either kill the man who'd killed Arthur or dive into the elevator shaft after him. So Eames had done the only thing he could do, a last gift to Arthur.

He'd wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her into their van.

_I wish she hadn't had to see that_, Eames thought desperately. It'd been close to impossible for him to see, and he wasn't in love with Arthur.

The magnitude of what lay ahead hit Eames in that moment.

After Isabel had left, he'd found himself spending day after day in the pub, drinking constantly when not on the job. It was his only way to calm his mind, to convince himself that everything would be all right.

And who'd come to his rescue? Cobb and Arthur, always sniffing out some job and offering it to Eames.

Eames wondered how the world of shared dreaming would respond when they heard the news of Arthur's death. In the last year, he'd fielded call after call from prospective employers and past co-workers, asking where Arthur had gone, if his retirement was true. And Eames had responded as honestly as he could: he had no idea.

Each person had been dejected with that. It wasn't good enough. Arthur was simply the best, and they could pay good money to hire him.  
His loss would be felt, though the response was sure to differ.

_Cobol might have a party_, Eames thought wildly. Finally able to take Arthur off of their most wanted list, all the while knowing they didn't have to pay a cent for someone who did it.

_Assuming Browning's bodyguards are unaware of the price on his head_, Eames reminded himself. He wouldn't put it past them recovering Arthur's body, just to show to Cobol and acquire the reward of $2.5 million. Browning would've told them everything about Arthur, too. It was next to guaranteed they would want the payout.

Arthur didn't have any close friends in the business (as far as Eames was aware, anyway) aside from Cobb, meaning no one would be completely devastated to receive the news. The only sadness would come from knowing Arthur was no longer around to be the world's best point man.

He thought about the phone calls he was sure to receive. Yusuf would probably be the first to leak the news, probably as soon as he got back to Mombasa and saw the list of missed calls. People would want to know where he'd been, and who he'd been working with. And then he would tell them, and breathlessly add: "_Arthur is dead…"_

_"Arthur who? Not Cobb's point man?"_

_"That Arthur! Arthur Zaleski. Killed in Los Angeles…"_

And then the news would spread. People would try and call Cobb first, to get what they knew to be Arthur's most common co-worker to confirm the news. But they wouldn't be able to reach him, because Cobb would be too focused on finding his children and making them safe.

So they'd consult the names of the others Yusuf had worked with, skirt past the name Micah Harper (for Yusuf would explain he was a greenhorn, a novice, and therefore no one knew at this point how to contact him) and settle on Edward Eames and Ariadne Chopin. But while Ariadne was still largely unknown to the world of shared dreaming (thanks to Cobb and Arthur), Eames was not. And so they would descend on him, their demands harsh and without any regard to Eames' grief.

_"Is it true? Is Arthur dead? The point man?"_

What could he say, aside from the truth? There was no denying Arthur had died, whether from the bullet to the heart or the fall down the elevator shaft.

Eames looked around the room, and he realized for the first time that there were numerous photos around the apartment. He stood and wandered over to the bookshelf, where small souvenirs from exotic places were resting beside the books, alongside photographs in neat frames. Eames picked up one. It was a shot of Arthur by himself, looking more casual than Eames had ever seen, in khaki shorts, a white dress shirt, bare feet and dark sunglasses. He was leaning against a railing, smiling softly in the bright sunlight, an ocean that looked like the Mediterranean spread out behind him.

Eames smiled, looking at the other photos. There were plenty of Arthur and Ariadne together, including one that must've been taken on New Year's Eve, judging by the balloons and 'Happy New Year!' signs everywhere. They were dancing, looking deeply into the other's eyes. Ariadne was laughing as Arthur twirled her.

There were photos of what he guessed was Ariadne and her family: her childhood all the way up until her graduation from wherever she'd gotten her undergraduate degree. There were no photos of Arthur's family.

He could imagine how Arthur must have gritted his teeth over Ariadne wanting to put the pictures out. He could imagine Ariadne reminding him that if they were to look like a normal couple, they had to have normal pictures out like everyone else.

Eames sighed, shaking his head and looked at the cigarette in his hand like it was the first time he'd seen it. Looking at the photographs of Arthur and Ariadne, and seeing how happy they were, made him want to throw up—

A thought struck him.

Maybe it was his exhaustion. Maybe it was the cigarette smoke. But Eames had found a plane ticket inside his own bag earlier. And then he'd found a note from Arthur in Arthur's bag.

Could there be something else from Arthur in his own bag?

Eames practically pounced on his shoulder bag. He began to tear through it, haphazardly tossing out his belongings as he moved. Digging, digging—

A passport fell out.

A passport Eames did not remember owning.

His hands shaking, Eames opened it. It was an English passport, with Eames' picture and basic information beside it. The only thing that was different was the name: this passport was for Edward Zaleski.

He turned it upside down, and a small slip of paper fell out.

_Your previous employer did go out of his way to make your return trip to London difficult. Your name is on the no-fly lists of the entire U.K. I didn't know if you'd thought of a way to get out of this, so I did. Good luck._

And another arrow…

_Think you can pull off Russian?_

Arthur had intended Eames to find this passport and note regardless of what happened to him. Eames gripped the table as tears sprang to his eyes.

Even when he'd thought Eames hated him… Even as he thought Eames was in love with his girlfriend… Arthur had been trying to help him.

"You son of a bitch," Eames whispered.

It was too much. He was tired of staying awake with only his memories. Eames turned to the table and grabbed the glass of water. He raced back to the couch and sat down.

"Cheers, Arthur," he murmured. And he downed the glass in one.

The days passed, and Eames and Ariadne fell into a pattern.

They went to the market together, Eames trailing Ariadne as she shopped for groceries. She bought fruit, wine, cheese, bread, butter, asparagus, mushrooms, chicken, eggs, milk, orange juice, green beans, pastas, peppers, fish, olive oil, pork… She asked Eames what he wanted and he answered, and she added whatever he said to their cart.

All the while, she wore a mask of calm. They barely spoke.

On their second day together, Eames got the call he'd been waiting for.

The phone number was unlisted, and he mentally ran through a list of potential suspects before he picked up.

"Hello."

"Eames," a man replied. "It's Alejandro."

"Ah," Eames said. "Hello, my dear Alejandro. How's Barcelona this time of the year?"

Alejandro was an old associate of Eames'. He was in the midst of retirement from his work as an architect, spending more and more time in his native Spain, incidentally the same country Eames had met him in.

"Very beautiful," Alejandro said. "But I'm not calling to brag. I heard an interesting rumor about our mutual friend Arthur."

Eames sighed, glancing around. Ariadne was standing in the kitchen, making them dinner. He got to his feet, gesturing to his phone and she nodded, her eyes immediately returning to her work as Eames stepped outside the apartment.

"What was the rumor?" He asked.

"That Arthur has been shot to death in Los Angeles," Alejandro said. Eames opened his mouth but Alejandro guessed the question, adding, "I heard it from a friend, he heard it from a chemist called Yusuf from Mombasa. I called around, no one's heard anything from or about Cobb, so I figured you were the next best."

"I see," Eames said slowly. He was standing in front of a mirror (why did this hallway have a mirror anyway?), scuffing his foot against the ground.

There was a beat; evidently, Alejandro had assumed he would get some sort of response. "Well? Is it true?"

Eames sighed. "Yes, it's true."

"I don't believe it," Alejandro gasped.

"Then why did you need me to confirm it?" Eames asked, rolling his eyes.

"You must see why I'm so surprised," Alejandro said impatiently. "This is Arthur we're talking about. Cobb's point man. Who did it? And how?"

Eames leaned against the wall beside the mirror. "Associates of Peter Browning, after Arthur killed Browning. They shot him twice and then pushed him into an open elevator shaft."

"Jesus," Alejandro whispered. "My God. I never thought I'd live to see the day Arthur was killed…"

"Yeah, I know," Eames agreed.

"How's Cobb?"

Eames shrugged, even though Alejandro wouldn't be able to see. "No idea. He's still in the states."

"Where are you?"

"France," Eames said.

"France?" Alejandro repeated, obviously surprised. "What the hell are you doing in France?"

Eames internally debated with himself for a moment before shrugging it off. Alejandro was fine. "Tying up Arthur's loose ends."

"Cobb?"

"Has more important things to take care of back home," Eames finished.

"France," Alejandro murmured. "So that's where Arthur was last year. I suppose you're trying to collect his money? He must have quite the treasure trove out there, assuming you can find it all." He laughed heartily at the end of his sentence.

Eames did his best to laugh with him. "Yes, I know. No luck so far. It looks like Arthur knew what he was doing. His money is lost to the world." He knew he had to add that detail. No matter how much he liked Alejandro, he knew he would latch onto whatever news he could about the substantial millions Arthur had left behind. Hopefully Alejandro would pass on that to whoever else inquired about it; Alejandro knew Eames enough to know the forger would've pounced on money, if any was to be had.

And Eames knew there was plenty to be had: but Ariadne would get it all.

"That's a shame," Alejandro murmured. "Ah, well. It's not as if you ever liked that man, hm, Mr. Eames? What was it you called him: a stick-in-the-mud?"

Eames grimaced, feeling his stomach constrict. "Yes, that's right."

"Still, we will all be sad to know the best point man has passed on," Alejandro continued. He laughed then, squishing the grief from his tone. "Ah, who am I kidding? Less competition, am I right?"

Eames wanted to punch him. You don't know what you're talking about. "Right you are, Alejandro."

"What do you say to coming down to Barcelona for a drink?"

"Can't," Eames said. "I'm heading home and taking a nice long breather. I'll be dropping off the radar for a while."

Alejandro sighed. "Whatever you say, Mr. Eames. When you decide to come back…"

"You'll be the first to know," Eames finished. "Goodbye, Alejandro."

"Farewell, Mr. Eames."

He hung up and leaned against the wall, clutching his cell phone in his hand. It hadn't been that bad, he knew. Alejandro was good enough of a person to not openly joke about Arthur, nor the manner in how he died.

But Eames absolutely despised his laughter about Arthur.

That thought was magnified when Eames walked back into the apartment and found Ariadne crying as she cut vegetables.

He ran to her side, shoving the knife out of the way and wrapping his arms around her. "Ari, it's okay… It's okay, love…"

"N-No," she stuttered. "It's just the goddamn onions. Just the onions."

He looked down and realized she was indeed cutting onions. Feeling awkward, he took a step back, blushing. But then he looked at her, her drawn expression, tired eyes and realized… She was lying. It wasn't the onions.

"You can cry," he murmured. "Love, you can cry."

And then she was sobbing, and Eames barely had time to catch her as her legs gave way, sliding down to the kitchen floor with her. Ariadne was sobbing, harder than he'd ever seen anyone cry.

"I miss him," she croaked. "I miss him so much…"

He was helpless as she laid down, pressing her cheek to the kitchen floor, her chocolate brown eyes wide and hopeless. Eames wanted to cry and to his horror, he did. But his tears were unmatched next to hers, a raindrop compared to the ocean.

"I miss him too, love," he whispered.

Eames had told Ariadne what he'd found in the bags, and she had wasted no time in tearing hers and Arthur's apart, desperately searching for something for her. He'd hovered in the background as she tossed out Arthur's shirts, her makeup bag, his shoes, her skirts… And when the bags were empty, and she was surrounded by the material things of Arthur's life, she'd collapsed, defeated. Because there was nothing for her. All that had been left was the keys to the Mercedes.

Even now, Eames couldn't believe it. How could Arthur leave him two notes, and nothing for Ariadne? It was completely unlike him, and Eames wondered if something might've fallen out of the bags in their mad dash from the van to the airport…

"Where do you think he is?" Ariadne whispered, her eyes staring straight ahead of her at something Eames could not see. He leaned against the cupboards, running a hand over her hair.

He swallowed. "What do you mean?"

He didn't want to talk religion. Eames had been raised Christian, but hadn't practiced in years. He had no idea what religion Arthur subscribed to either.

"Has he moved on?" Ariadne asked. "Or is he still here?" Her hand tightened around itself, as if she was imagining holding Arthur's hand within it.

"I don't know," Eames said, honestly.

"He told me, that when his father died, his brother went crazy, searching for signs," Ariadne murmured. Eames wasn't sure she was really talking to him anymore. "Anything to show he was still around. Arthur never bought into that. He was never raised with much faith, and he lost it in Afghanistan."

_I don't blame him_, Eames though. Torture would do that to someone.

"Pennies," Ariadne continued. "Spilled salt. Four-leaf clovers. Oddly-shaped clouds." She swallowed and closed her eyes. "I don't want him to be gone, Edward. I'd like to think he hasn't completely left me."

"Maybe he hasn't," Eames suggested softly.

"He told me he would be with me for as long as he could," Ariadne continued. "Do you think that's still true, even now?"

Eames honestly didn't know what to say. _Fuck, Arthur…_

"Edward," Ariadne said. "Do you think he's in hell?"

No, no, please no… Eames swallowed nervously, and ran a hand over his hair, his mind searching desperately for something to say.

"Logically speaking," Ariadne continued, not waiting for Eames' answer. "He killed a man minutes before he died. There seems to be an understanding that that's wrong, right?"

"Ari," Eames murmured. "I don't think Arthur is in hell. He killed Browning for us, remember? To save us? And he thought Browning was going to kill him first, so really, it was just self-defense."

She turned, her eyes finally meeting his. Her cheeks were wet, as was the floor where she'd laid her head. "You think so?"

"Yes," Eames said. Truthfully, he had no idea, but there was nothing else he could say to her. Who was going to tell her the man she loved was in hell?

Ariadne suddenly sat up, leaning against the cabinets opposite Eames. She wiped her eyes furiously, trying to not smear the mascara Eames knew she hadn't bothered to put on in days. He reached forward and grasped her knee.

"Edward?"

He tried to smile. "Yes, love?"

She took a deep breath. "I think you should go home tomorrow."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the heavy grandfather clock in the dining room ticking the moments away, and the sound of the oven heating up near them. Eames gaped at Ariadne. He hadn't expected this.

"You want me to leave?"

She nodded. "I think it's time."

"But, Ari," he said, distressed. "I'm worried about you. You've barely said anything, today was the first day you cried-"

"Excuse me?"

He froze at the ice in her voice. Her chocolate brown eyes were suddenly hard.

"I've been crying every single day," she whispered. "Every night, when I try to fall asleep, all I see is him. His face, the moment he fell into that elevator shaft. I feel his arms around me as he dragged me out of that conference room, his blood against my stomach, his lips on mine when he kissed me for the last time. I see him everywhere, Edward, whenever my eyes are open. I see him walking down the street, working at his desk, drinking coffee in the café, riding the subway, sleeping with the PASIV, reading a book, cooking me dinner, dancing with me and singing along to his records, and holding his hand out for mine… And every time I speak, call his name, he disappears. And I'm all alone."

"Ari…"

She shook her head. "You don't know how I feel, Edward. You don't know what's best for me. I do. And I want you to go home."

_Remember what I said. Leave when she asks you to._

Eames nodded. "Okay. I'll book a flight."

She sighed, as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Thank you, Edward."

"But if you need anything, anything," Eames said determinedly. "Don't hesitate to call, okay?"

"I won't," she agreed. "I'll keep in touch."

The next day came all too soon. Eames had packed and tucked the passport Arthur had made him into his jacket pocket. Ariadne walked with him to the front of her apartment building as he hailed a cab to take him to the airport.

"What will you do now?" She asked him.

He shrugged. "Lay low for a while. That's standard procedure after any job." He sighed deeply, knowing that she wasn't searching for that answer. "I'll have to deal with some fallout over Arthur. Everyone's shocked, of course. But… it'll fade away eventually. And I can't let go of this world. I'll go back in soon enough."

Ariadne nodded, satisfied. Eames stared at her.

"What about you, love?"

"I'll go back to school," she murmured. "Finally answer Professor Miles' calls. Maybe call Cobb, and see how he's doing. And I think I will call Makena after all. To tell her she was right."

"Will you dream again?" Eames asked quietly.

She considered his question, obviously thinking.

"Probably," she said at last. "Arthur wouldn't like me abandoning it because he died. And I can't turn my back on it either… It's pure creation."

"I'm sorry, Ari," Eames murmured.

He reached out, hugging her tightly.

"Me too, Edward," she whispered into his shoulder. "Me, too."

He got into the cab with a solemn wave. Ariadne watched him go, her arms tucked around her. Eames only turned away when the cab rounded the corner and he couldn't see her anymore.

**Truth be told, I was never into an Ariadne/Eames relationship. But it made sense for the characters to at least wonder about the what if.**

** Two more chapters to go!**

**Review, please**


	36. Grace

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Thanksthanksthanks always to the Reviewers- _Guest_: Yes, Arthur did make a promise... I think many readers are in the exact same position/point of view as you, though I hope you're not as upset as you seem to be! D: _MajesticMoments_: I love me some angst, if you haven't gathered that by now! And I love responding to reviews, it's the least I can do, really. And yes, almost done! :) _Iole17_: You can still say poor Eames, it's a tragedy all around, I think. But I agree about the pairing, definitely. _Knuckiducki_: Hmmm meeting Arthur's mother? there are two chapters left... I've got some ideas perpetually floating around... thanks! _In. Blue. 85_: hey, you remembered that Arthur told Adam to meet/give something to Ariadne! Any guesses? _recey2010: _yes, definitely. thanks for leaving the note though! _Caliber13_: thanks so much! "perfect person," LOL. I think this chapter is paced even slower, so there's that. I feel sorry for Eames too! What a mess. But I never even considered for a moment ending the story with an Eames/Ariadne thing. Ew. There's hope all around, I think.**

**Chapter title from the absolutely stunning song from Kate Havnevik. Completely perfect for Ariadne right now.**

Grace**  
**

Tuesday, October 25, 2011: Paris, France: Ariadne and Arthur's apartment: Ariadne

Slowly, she found a pattern again.

True to her word, she called Miles. He turned up on her doorstep within minutes after her call. He looked tired and weary, and he didn't demand an explanation when she broke down into tears at the sight of him. He only hugged her, taking her inside her apartment and making a cup of tea.

"Dom told me," he said, by way of explanation. He watched her, as she took a long drink of the tea. "I'm so sorry, Ariadne. I can't imagine how you feel."

"A little like a widow, I expect," she said. "Thanks for coming, Professor."

"Stephen or Miles, my dear," Miles replied.

She nodded. "Stephen, then. What did Dom say, specifically?"

Miles looked more like an old man than she'd ever seen, and realized this was probably a glimpse into how he'd been after Mal died. "That the job was completed, and you succeeded. That Arthur killed your employer. That the employer's associates killed Arthur."

She hadn't expected anything more, or anything less. "Has he found his children?"

"Oh yes," Miles said. "One of Arthur's tips worked out; they were in Santa Barbara. A little scared, tired, but they're fine. I'm flying out tomorrow to see them. Dom is moving to Chicago, and I thought he could use the help. You can come, if you'd like."

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "Thanks for the offer. But I'm going to stay here."

"Ariadne, he's not coming back."

Ariadne swallowed, forcing herself to meet Miles' gentle gaze. "I know that."

"You remind me of Dom," Miles said. "After Mal passed away. He was inconsolable. Those children, and yes, Arthur, were all that held him together. He would often dream, just to see her again." Miles hesitated. "You're not doing that, are you?"

"He told me not to," Ariadne murmured. "And I'm not ready to see him, like that."

"Smart girl," Miles agreed. "When will you come back to school?"

She shrugged. "Soon. I've already missed so much school…"

"Your professors believe you were working on another once-in-a-lifetime internship," Miles said loftily. "Your classmates are quite jealous, as this is your second in as many years."

Ariadne smirked. "Thanks, Stephen."

"Of course."

"Have you told Geneviève yet?" Ariadne asked.

Miles nodded sadly. "Two days ago. She's devastated. The first thing she wanted to know was if he'd managed to save you. I told her that he did." Ariadne blinked furiously, and Miles grasped her hand. "Geneviève is hanging on to a few things Arthur left in his office. She'll be keeping his research, but if you'd like to pick up his personal belongings…"

"I will," she murmured. "I appreciate that."

A silence fell between them. Ariadne swirled her tea idly, watching the leaves tumble and fall. Miles watched her solemnly.

"Hang on, Ariadne," he said seriously. "Hang on to reality."

"It's…" She shook her head, but it was too late: the ever-present tears were falling again. "It's like hell, Stephen. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't function… All I can think about is him…I miss him so much."

Miles nodded knowingly. "'Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.'"

She stared. "What?"

"Edna St. Vincent Millay," Miles explained. "I read a lot of books on grief after I lost my daughter, Ariadne. It never gets easier. It just becomes more bearable. You should know that memory is flawed. You will wake up one day, and he won't be the first thing you see."

"Do you not see Mal anymore?" She asked breathlessly.

He hesitated. "No. I see her all the time. In the park, walking the hallways of the university, shopping for groceries… I take comfort in it. I'm not insane, my dear. And I know that Mal is gone. I just like to imagine she is still with me, in some way."

She closed her eyes. "Thank you, Stephen."

"You did not deserve this," Miles whispered brokenly. "When Dom told me he needed an architect, I knew you were his only option. I figured the worst that could happen is you would get sucked into his world of espionage. I never imagined you would lose the person who meant the most to you."

Ariadne blanched. "Stephen, please, don't blame yourself…"

"I remember the day I first met Arthur," Miles continued as if he hadn't heard her. "It was 1999, a cold winter's day. Mal visited me at my office, though I know she was only there because she was waiting for Dom to fly in; he'd just finished a job in Ireland. And who did Mal have in tow but a skinny, shy, quiet boy. Just eighteen years old. But with such an incredible self-possession; I thought he was far older when he introduced himself. Mal told me that Dom was interested in introducing him to the dream world. And I laughed, and I asked him, 'What's got you interested?' And he looked me straight in the eye and he said, 'There's nothing quite like it.' And I knew I'd met a very special soul."

She took a deep breath. "There's no one else like him."

"I think you're right," Miles agreed. "I think he's the greatest person I've ever had the marvelous fortune to meet." He hesitated. "Dom told me what happened to him in Afghanistan. Just a couple days ago, when he told me what happened in Los Angeles…"

"Oh," she murmured.

"Ariadne," Miles said seriously. "Did you know that Arthur told me that he was going to die in Los Angeles before you left the country for the job?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Did he tell you how guilty he felt?"

"What?" She asked, shocked.

Miles smiled, somberly. "He'd just told me what Dom had done; blackmailed the two of you into helping him. Arthur looked so sad, and so sorry… He said—mind you, I'm ad-libbing, my memory is poor—he said, 'I'm sorry, Stephen. I really thought I could do this, walk away from it all without hurting her, that I could have this past and a life with her.' And I told him I thought he'd done it too, and he said, 'I thought I could protect her. But all I've done is ruin her life.'"

"No," Ariadne whispered.

"That's what I said," Miles said, chuckling. "I told him he was a good man, a selfless one. And then he told me what he was planning to do: 'I can't lose her, Stephen. I can't watch her die, not without doing every thing I can… If it comes down to my choice, I'll pick her every time.'"

And he'd done just that. Ariadne remembered him kissing her, before turning and allowing himself to be captured and killed, allowing her and Micah to escape alive, while he was shot and thrown down an elevator shaft…

She could hear a strange ripping noise, and it took her a moment to realize the sound came from her. Miles was rubbing her back.

"I told him he couldn't waste a moment," Miles murmured. "And he laughed and said he wasn't planning to. I hugged him, because I think, ever since I met him, part of me has thought of him as a son, like Dom… I told him to go to you, and he said, 'Always.'"

That familiar endearment, the phrase he'd told her a million times.

_"Be careful." "Always."_

_"I'm always with you…"_

"Stephen," she croaked. "How do I move on? How do I let him go, knowing what I've lost?"

"I don't know," Miles said. "And I don't mean to add to your grief. I just want you to know that you can't give up. He didn't die for you to wither away without him."

She looked at Miles. "I know."

"I'm certain the only reason Dom never thought about following Mal was because of his children," Miles said gently. "He couldn't leave them orphans, no matter how much he missed her. That's what scares me about you, my dear. What will keep you here?"

Ariadne took a deep breath. "Knowing he wanted me to stay, and to move on, and be happy."

"Is it enough?"

She closed her eyes. "It has to be."

She managed to call Cobb a couple days later, once Miles had called to confirm the extractor had settled in Chicago and given her his new number.

"Hello?" Cobb sounded tired, but pleased.

She swallowed. "Hi, Dom."

He gasped. "Ariadne! Hey! How are you?" There'd been a short pause. "Don't answer that. I know how you feel." She knew he was probably the only person she knew about whom that was true.

"How are you?" She asked instead.

"I'm fine," Cobb said seriously. "We've just moved in, I have my kids back, they're enrolled in school… We're going to be okay."

She couldn't help but smile. "I'm happy to hear that, Dom. How are your kids?"

"Coping," Cobb said. "They're not happy with how protective I've gotten, but I can't help it."

"I don't blame you," she murmured. Another awkward silence fell.

"Ariadne…" Cobb took a deep breath. "I'm so-"

"Please don't," Ariadne croaked. "I know you're sorry. I know everyone's sorry. It's becoming too much. I never know how to respond."

"I know the feeling," Cobb said with a humorless chuckle. "How's Paris?"

She shrugged. "Lonely. I'm having a difficult time remembering what I used to do here, before Arthur."

"I want to…" Cobb coughed. "I don't know what your plans are, but I want you to know you're always welcome here. If you want to come for a weekend, or anything, really. Thanksgiving, Christmas…"

She laughed. "I'm Canadian. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving."

"Well, then come for a giant meal," Cobb suggested. "I'm just saying that my door is always open. My kids really want to meet you."

"Do they know about Arthur?"

Cobb sighed. "They know he's in the same place as their _maman_ is now. Philippa understands what this means, but James still thinks they're in a foreign country."

_I met a traveler from an antique land*_. She shook her head, clearing her mind of Arthur's favorite poem.

"Arthur loved them," she murmured.

"Yes," Cobb agreed. "They know that; I made sure of it. And they loved him like he was an uncle. They, uh… I told them about you. They know you were together."

"Oh."

"That's partly why they want to meet you," Cobb continued softly. "They remember what I was like after Mal died, and they… They hate to think of Arthur's lady all by herself."

She almost laughed. "Arthur's lady?"

"It was hard to explain that people can love each other and not be married. Somehow the term 'girlfriend' didn't seem adequate."

"I bet," she agreed. "Look, Dom… I was just calling to check in. And I want you to know that I'm hanging in there."

"Good," Cobb said, sounding relieved. "Don't hesitate to call, Ariadne."

"I know," she murmured. "Tell your kids I say hello, please."

Cobb started moving; she could hear him shuffling in the background. "They're right here, actually… If you wanted to say hello yourself."

She hesitated, considering his proposition. She'd never talked to Cobb's kids; she didn't even know what she would say. She stared at the countertop in front of her for a long moment, debating…

"Okay," she breathed at last. "Sure."

"Okay," Cobb repeated. The phone was jostled. "Pippa! James! Ariadne is on the phone!" Then in an aside: "I'll put you on speakerphone, okay?"

She nodded silently as a dim beep came in the background.

And then her ears were promptly assaulted by squeaky voices: "Ariadne! Ariadne!"

"Hi, there," she murmured, doing her best to sound cheerful. "Who am I speaking to?"

"I'm Philippa," a high-pitched little girl's voice intoned.

"And I'm James!" A similarly high-pitched voice added, this one of a young boy.

She smiled. "I see. My name is Ariadne."

"Daddy told us," Philippa said seriously. "Are you really calling from Paris? I love Paris."

"I really am," Ariadne confirmed. "How do you like Chicago?"

"It's okay," Philippa said. "I miss California."

"How about you, James?"

James was eager to answer. "It's loud!"

She had to laugh at that. "I bet. I've never been to Chicago myself, but I've heard about it from friends…" Including Arthur.

"Ariadne," James squeaked. "Is Arthur with you?"

She swallowed, hearing Cobb in the background impatiently sshing James, reminding him…

"No," she said at last. "He's not. Arthur's gone, James."

"Daddy says he loved you," Philippa interjected.

Ariadne gripped the counter, her nails digging into the surface, searching for something real. "He did."

"Did you love him?"

"I still do," she whispered. "So much."

"We miss him," James said hurriedly.

Ariadne swallowed again, fighting her tears. The children really had no idea… "I miss him too, James."

Cobb seemed to realize Ariadne was about to lose it. "Say bye to Ariadne now, kids."

"Bye!" Ariadne managed to blubber out her own farewell when Cobb turned the phone off of speaker.

"Ariadne?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"I'm sorry about that, they don't understand-"

She shook her head. "It's okay. They can't know what's going on."

"Ariadne-"

"Dom, I have to go," she said impatiently. "I'll talk to you some time, okay?"

He sighed. "Okay. Goodbye, Ariadne."

"Bye, Dom."

She slammed the phone down on the counter, buried her face in her arms, and began to cry.

A couple days later, Ariadne was rhythmically vacuuming the apartment. In the background was one of Arthur's favorite Ella Fitzgerald records, humming along smoothly in the record player.

_"So taunt me, and hurt me, Deceive me, desert me, I'm yours, till I die… So in love... So in love... So in love with you, my love... am I..."_

She sighed, turning off the vacuum and running a hand across her forehead. Ariadne looked in the hallway, at the small desk where she and Arthur always left their random junk, picked up during the day: receipts, train ticket stubs, change, notes, their keys, sometimes their phones.

Her eyes zoomed in on the business card she'd tossed onto the smooth wooden surface without a thought: Yusuf's business card.

Without really being aware of what she was doing, she wandered to the desk, picked up the card and dialed the number.

It was long-distance, and took a while. She listened to the dim ringing, until—

"_Hujambo._"

Ariadne swallowed nervously. "Is this Makena?"

"Who am I speaking to?" Makena asked in English, hesitating.

"Edward Eames and I came to Mombasa a few weeks ago to offer Yusuf, your husband, a job," Ariadne said.

Makena gasped. "Oh. You are the girl. Ariadne."

"That's right."

"Yusuf told me what happened to your love," Makena murmured. "How your love has passed on." Ariadne blinked at the words, but Makena spoke again. "Yusuf said you might call, but I did not think you would so soon. How are you doing?"

"Not very well," Ariadne admitted. "I keep thinking about what you told me. About the jina."

"Everything is all right if you love each other," Makena recalled. "Yes. I can see why you are doubting it."

"I miss him more than I can really comprehend," Ariadne murmured. "Makena, what do I do now?"

"Ariadne," Makena said seriously. "Do you remember what else I told you, when you raised your doubts the first time?"

She thought frantically, and the answer came a moment later.

"You told me, 'Keep faith, young one. He will return, but only if you learn to let him go first,'" Ariadne remembered.

"Yes."

Ariadne froze. "But what does that mean? He can't come back. He's dead."

"Yes," Makena repeated. "But do you really think you will never see him again?"

"What do you mean?"

Makena sighed deeply, but Ariadne imagined she could hear a smile in her sigh. "Oh, young one. He hasn't really left you. He might be gone in body, but don't you think part of him will always stay with you?"

_"I'm always with you…"_

She swallowed. "Do you think so?"

"Oh yes. He is just on the other side, that's all."

_"I'll see you on the other side."_

"You are never alone if you've been loved, Ariadne. And he loved you."

Everything anyone had told her since Arthur died… Everyone from Cobb, to Eames, to Micah, Yusuf, Miles and even Cobb's children… It all paled suddenly, in comparison to Makena's words.

"Makena," she breathed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, young one. You will heal."

***The first line of "Ozymandias" by Shelley. My favorite poem, too. And man, do I love Edna St. Vincent Millay.**

**I personally take on a point of view like Makena's when friends/family lose loved ones, or I lost a loved one. They don't ever truly leave. And like Miles, I swear that I sometimes see them. We're not crazy; just lonely.**

**Review, please. One more chapter left! Not all has been said/seen/done... I'd love to hear your predictions for the next chapter, if you have one.**


	37. Timeless

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**Big last hurrah of thanks for the reviewers- _Guest_: thanks, glad you liked it! and wow, your prediction is deep! I never even connected those two sentences until now. _Iole17_: same here... _kireitenshi000_: hey, I don't think I've gotten a review from you before, so thanks for doing so now! Hmm perhaps Jonah is helping him... interesting. but the sad stories and sad songs are the best ones! _MajesticMoments_: haha, I love your dedication in reviewing, thank you! Yeah, I think there's a lot of potential regarding the bond between Ariadne and Miles, that was something I made sure to touch on. I had this ending planned out from the start, I hope you like it. _Guest/Knuckiducki(?)_: haha, pretending he comes back two sentences later, I do that with books sometimes if I don't like the ending! That is true, I do wonder about the bodyguard and it's a good point that Arthur would finally have his clean slate... Yay Miles! And I know, the chapter was really short :( At least this one is quite long! _In. Blue. 85_: Arthur does have a plan for everything... and yes, he could easily fake it again. _KrazyXISnowKnut_: DAMN. One of my good friends is in Ontario for university and he explained the Thanksgiving customs to me! I wrote this long before that and I completely forgot to edit that. Shoot. I also love the angst, so you're not alone. Thanks for reviewing! _recey2010_: gosh, thanks friend!**

**Chapter title from the Kate Havnevik song (yup, like last chapter!), one of my all-time favorites. Just lovely and perfect for this ending.**

**Last chapter! IT'S DONE. Please read through the author's note at the end.**

Timeless**  
**

Thursday, December 22, 2011: Paris, France: Ariadne's apartment: Ariadne

It was two months after the job when the first snow hit Paris.

Ariadne was at home, working on a design for one of her classes. She'd returned a couple weeks previously, on the first day of the month. Her classmates had besieged her with questions on her 'internship' and she'd responded as best as she could.

She also dealt with the questions regarding Arthur, from the close friends who'd met him. On this, Ariadne lied: she said Arthur had died in a car accident in Los Angeles. Her friends panicked (none had experienced anything like this before, they were all so young) and dove into doing what they thought best for Ariadne, which included trying to get her to wipe all traces of him from her life, like the photographs around the apartment. But she hid the photos under her bed, and found herself leaving them all around the bedroom, where no one else entered. She liked to think he was watching her.

Their relationship had been long enough that her friends weren't trying to set her up yet. She was grateful for this, because she wasn't ready. She knew that one day she would be. But that day was a long ways away.

Ariadne visited Paris Descartes, where Geneviève wrapped her in a hug and repeated her sympathies for Ariadne's loss. Ariadne had wound up staying for lunch, chatting about Arthur. Geneviève turned out to be exactly the kind of person Ariadne needed. She only wanted to share stories about Arthur, and not spend time repeating how much Arthur had loved Ariadne.

Slowly but surely, Ariadne was beginning the long road to recovery. She was sleeping again, and eating. But she could not bear silence. She always was listening to something, whether it was the television or the record player. She forced herself to spend time with others, doing her best to not be alone, when she was swallowed by her memories and her grief.

And she found herself looking for signs.

She picked up loose change in the street, checking the numbers for anything relating to Arthur. Late at night, she lay awake, trying to hear odd and unexplainable creaks in the apartment. She kept the windows open for as long as she could, wondering if she might be able to hear his voice on the wind. When she was in the apartment by herself, she often wore his shirts and coats, sniffing the sleeves and pretending he was holding her again. She continued to buy his preferred aftershave, spraying it on surfaces so she would catch it on the breeze and think he was walking towards her. Whenever she made coffee, she poured a cup of black coffee and inhaled the scent until it cooled.

She sang to herself, and danced on her own. She still talked to Arthur, offering commentary on her day and her thoughts on her life. She took long walks by the Seine, often picnicking on her own with wine, bread and cheese, like they used to. She always carried a photo of him with her, and she never went outside without the lace scarf.

Ariadne routinely had lunch with Miles, where he'd tell her what he heard of the dream world, mostly from Cobb. She hadn't called Cobb back since her earlier call; she needed her distance. So it fell to Miles to tell her that Yusuf had signed on for a job in Buenos Aires next fall, and that rumor had it that Eames was already working with a Spanish architect, operating out of Barcelona.

Miles also told her that Cobb had checked in with Micah after the one-month anniversary of the job and Arthur's death. Micah was doing okay, Miles said. He was working hard to get his degree. Miles said Micah had told one of Arthur's old professors, a man named Bristol, of his death: the man had been utterly devastated.

"Arthur was quite the teacher's pet," Ariadne noted, causing Miles to chuckle.

Miles also informed her that the dream world was moving on past Arthur, and that Cobol hadn't had to pay anyone for his body. Ariadne felt a perverse disappointment at this.

It was getting easier for her to joke freely about him, and easier for her to just talk about him. Miles found her a therapist who was familiar with the dream world, and she went, uncertain about what she would say. She found herself loving the hour each Wednesday she spent in Dr. Marcel's office, describing her feelings and how she was coping without Arthur.

Her family knew that Arthur had died, but they didn't know the depth of her and Arthur's relationship. Her mother was anxious for Christmas, when Ariadne promised to go home to Montreal.

"You sound so lonely, sweetheart," her mother repeatedly told her.

And Ariadne responded as best she could: "I'm just tired, mum."

She eventually opened the locked door in the apartment, walking into her office for the first time in months. She looked at the dream designs she'd been working on, for levels and trips she would take with Arthur. She ran her fingers over the cardboard, thinking of how she'd planned to surprise Arthur with a trip into an awesome dream world of a Paris of their own on a boring Tuesday night.

Ariadne considered completing the level, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Like she and Arthur would always be unfinished, so would the dream.

Arthur's PASIV was still hidden away in his closet, and on bad days, days when her sorrow would leak out in salt tears, she considered going under, if only to see him again. She knew, without a doubt, it wouldn't be hard to find him in her dreams. But then she would remember what he'd said, and she would force herself to abstain.

She would not ignore his wishes now.

The night her school let out for Christmas break, Ariadne was in the apartment, packing her suitcase for her trip to Canada. Tracy Chapman played in the background, her favorite song by the artist: "Fast Car." Her phone rang, and assuming it was her father calling to confirm her arrival time the next day, she answered breezily.

"Hello?"

"Ariadne? It's Adam."

She was relieved he hadn't hesitated to state his name, because she almost passed out when he said hers. She could never quite get past how identical they sounded, and she would've assumed that it was Arthur speaking. But it couldn't have been.

"Adam?" She repeated. She sank down onto the couch, needing the support.

"Yeah. Hi. How are you?"

Her breathing was becoming erratic, her shock paramount. "I'm okay. How are you?"

"I'm okay," he said, repeating her words. "Look, Ariadne, I… I'm in Paris."

She gripped the phone and automatically pulled her bishop from her jeans pocket. She set it on the table and knocked it over. Reality.

"Why?" She managed.

He swallowed. "Um… Well. Did Arthur tell you we met up in Oceanside on October 17th?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Do you know he's dead?"

"Yeah," Adam said, his voice quivering. "He told me he was going to die. And he told me that if he didn't call by the 27th to assume he was dead, and then as soon as I could after that, to come to Paris."

"Why?"

"Because he wanted me to give you something," Adam murmured.

Her heart stilled. She remembered her despair, after searching frantically through their bags, at not finding a single item or note from Arthur, anything to calm her mind. She'd been shocked: why did Eames get something and she didn't?

Adam had had it all along?

"Where are you?" She demanded.

"He gave me your address," Adam replied. "I thought I should call before I showed up at your front door though. Might be a bit of a shock, and all…"

She smiled in understanding. Hearing his voice had been bad enough. "I see. Thanks."

"Sure. I'll be there in a little bit, if that's okay."

"It's a good time," she confirmed. "Bye, Adam."

She hung up and flew around the apartment, tossing her suitcases on the bed and zipping them closed. She raced to the main part of the apartment, wondering if Adam liked coffee as much as Arthur had and deciding she didn't care, she wanted coffee anyway.

There was a quiet knock fifteen minutes later. She smoothed her sweater before pulling the door open.

Even though she'd been prepared, it was still a shock to see a man who looked identical to Arthur standing on her door mat. He was wearing a forest green jacket, with a black sweater and baggy jeans, sneakers poking out at his feet. His hair was wavy, and he had a bag slung over his shoulder.

He smiled. "Hi, Ariadne."

She took a deep breath and held out her hands. Adam looked at them.

"Please," she said. "I have to check something."

He hesitated, and offered his own. She pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and coat until she could see his forearms. She ran her hands over them quickly, checking there wasn't any makeup, before nodding.

"What was that about?" Adam asked, looking worried. Probably wondering about her sanity…

"Arthur had scars on his arms," Ariadne explained. "From Afghanistan, and a couple from his time with Cobb. I just… I needed to check that you really weren't him." As she spoke, her eyes locked on the gold wedding ring on Adam's left hand.

"Oh," Adam said in recognition. "I don't blame you."

She took a step back. "Come in. Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure, please."

Adam followed her inside, looking slightly uncomfortable as he surveyed the apartment. He didn't take off his jacket, but he did set his bag on the floor by the hall.

"This is a really fancy place," he commented. "I shouldn't be surprised. Arthur always had a flair for the nicer things in life."

She laughed, giving him a cup of black coffee. She smiled when he drank it, not grimacing at the taste many found to be too bitter.

"It's beautiful," she agreed. "I didn't do anything to it. Arthur had it all set up like this by the time I moved in. Come sit down."

Adam picked up his bag and sat on the couch while Ariadne sat by the window in an armchair. Adam kept glancing around, taking in the bookshelves, the records, the expensive art on the walls, the candles…

"How are you?" She asked. "I can't imagine what it must be like to lose him twice."

Adam grimaced. "No kidding. It's… Well. Yeah."

"Does your mother know?"

"I had to tell her," Adam murmured. "Because she was fretting over how she hadn't heard anything from him. I told her everything he said to me. She can't accept it. She still thinks he's going to walk into her house, acting as me." He smirked. "She grills me whenever I show up, kind of like how you reacted."

Ariadne smiled sadly. "We can't help it."

"She still wants to meet you. Especially now, knowing…" He trailed off, letting Ariadne fill in the rest of his sentence: _that he died for you._

She swallowed awkwardly. "Adam, what did he give you?"

"Ah," Adam said. He reached for his bag and began to explain as he dug through it.

"Arthur told me that to assume if he hadn't called by the 27th, that he'd died," Adam said softly. "He said that after he left mom's house, he was going to record a message for you, and then he would mail it to me. He wired money into my bank account to pay for a ticket for me to come to Paris to give it to you. Overpaid, judging by the fact he gave me twenty grand. Anyway… He must've thought it would be better for me to deliver this in person, rather than you getting it in the mail and thinking someone was screwing with you. He did it this way because he wasn't sure you would be able to get his stuff. You know. After he died." He hesitated, his hand gripping something in his bag and he looked at Ariadne.

"Please tell me. How did he die?"

Ariadne looked at her hands. "He was shot twice. Once in the abdomen, once in the chest. And then he fell down an elevator shaft."

"Jesus," Adam murmured. "Did you see?"

"Yes. He kissed me right before it happened. He let them catch him so a friend and I could escape. We were being chased by these men…"

Adam surprised her by nodding. "I know." She opened her mouth to ask but was distracted by Adam holding up a small brown package.

He shrugged and passed it to her. "Here."

She took it in her trembling hands, staring at what she recognized as Arthur's neat handwriting, spelling out the address of Adam Zaleski in Los Angeles. She pulled it open and a black CD case slid out, a DVD inside. Slowly, Ariadne picked it up, treating the DVD like it was a long-lost treasure.

Adam started speaking. "I'll just-"

"Don't leave, please," she whispered.

He nodded. "I'll go… hang out in your kitchen, then." Adam got to his feet and shuffled away, carrying his coffee with him.

Ariadne got up, taking the DVD to the DVD player by the television. She switched everything on, anxiously placing the DVD in the player with utmost care.

The television flickered, and then…

She gasped in a surprised bit of joy; it was like a shot of electricity to the heart.

Arthur was smiling, seated directly in front of what she assumed was his laptop. He looked exactly as she remembered, hair gelled back neatly, wearing a red dress shirt but no tie, the first few buttons of the shirt undone.

"Hello Ariadne," he whispered.

"Arthur," she whispered.

"If you're watching this, then it means I died," Arthur said, unaware of her words. "I don't know how, or who did it, but I hope it was fairly fast. If it wasn't, don't worry about me. It's over now."

She was already crying. How could she do this?

"Today is Sunday, October 17th, 2011," Arthur said. He looked at his watch. "It's about 10:30 at night, and I am currently in my hotel room at the Kyoto Grand in Los Angeles. You're a floor above me, with Eames. Today I visited my mother and my brother in Oceanside, which was probably the best decision I've made in a long time. If you're watching this, then it also means Adam has given this to you. Tell him thanks for me, would you?"

"I will," she promised.

"And let that guy know his stupid twin brother loved him, okay?" Arthur added, still smiling. "But I'm not making this video to say that." He fidgeted a little, looking uncomfortable. "This is so strange, but I figured, if you'd died, I would want a lasting way to see your face and hear your voice, so... I'm doing this because I don't know if I'll ever get to tell you that I'm sorry, and that I love you."

Ariadne took a deep breath, gasping. _No_…

"I think we officially broke up yesterday," Arthur murmured. "And… I'm not really sure what to do about that. All I know is that I've never felt more lonely or lost. It's crazy, because for so long, I never needed anyone. People needed me, but I didn't need them. That changed when I met you. When I fell in love with you, I knew you were it for me, that I was done looking.

"And I still feel that way," he continued. "And I know that even if I'd survived the job, I wouldn't change my mind on this. So, in a way, I'm okay with dying because it means I'll never have to lose you."

Ariadne grasped the couch, rocking back and forth, wishing she could dive into the television and tell Arthur how wrong he was.

"I really want you to know that I'm sorry," Arthur whispered. "I'm sorry for all the pain I've given you. I'm sorry for making you feel unloved. I'm sorry for treating you less than the goddess you really are. I hope that before I die, I'll get to explain this in real life, but because I can't know that for sure… This will have to do. I'm sorry, Ariadne."

He straightened suddenly. "A couple things you need to know… You are going to inherit everything. The apartment, my possessions and my money. You'll want to get a pen out…"

Arthur proceeded to give her the numbers to everything: his bank accounts and passwords, for everything from his emails to his foreign accounts. She listened in awe.

"You also get my legacy in the military," Arthur continued. "Including the pass codes to my files. It's up to you with what happens to my files. I don't care. Release them to the media if you want. Just let the military know I died, because then they can breathe a little more easily. Anyway, the pass codes…"

She listened as he listed off a series of numbers.

"I chose those numbers," he murmured. "And I've never told anyone why those numbers until now. The Russian alphabet is very different from English, mostly because it has thirty-three letters. I assigned each letter a number, depending on its order in Russian, all the way up to thirty-three. Translated thus, my numbers come out to say this: 'Алты́нного во́ра ве́шают, а полти́нного че́ствуют.'" He smiled. "My father's favorite saying and one that I have always been fond of: 'Little thieves are hanged, but great ones escape.'

"If there seems to be some trouble regarding your inheritance, bring it up with my attorney," Arthur continued. "His name is Roger Hart, and he's based in Manhattan. He's very aware of what I want and he'll bypass any restrictions. I have his phone number in my bureau drawer, the little one on top."

"You thought of everything," she whispered.

"This is probably a bit overwhelming," Arthur said. "But I think it's necessary. So thanks for bearing with me."

He laughed suddenly, running a hand through his hair. "God. Fair warning: I'm about to get unbearably sappy. But if these are my last words to you…" He shrugged. Ariadne held her knees to her chest.

"Do you remember when we met?" He asked. "You came into the warehouse with Cobb. You were so small, and so shy, when you shook my hand and Cobb introduced us. I swear, I knew, right that second, that I was in serious trouble. I could tell I was going to fall in love with you quickly.

"And when we were on the second level," he continued. "With projections everywhere, one bullet away from Limbo, and you were scared… I stole a kiss from you. You looked so surprised, and a little scandalized, even when I told you on the elevator that I liked you, and that I hoped to see you again after the job. You laughed and said you would have to think about it… So I caught up to you at LAX, and you kissed me, and I knew."

He smiled widely. "The last year with you has been the best year of my life. You're everything I've ever wanted to be. You're so brilliant, brave, kind and so strong. Not to mention beautiful. I could never figure out why you were with me.

"I told you once before that I would wait to marry you as long as you wanted me to," he whispered. "And that's still true. I would wait forever for you. But I don't want you to wait forever for me. I don't know how you feel now, if you have already moved on, if you hate me…" He sighed. "I figure if you're still watching this that you don't hate me that much. But I just want to make sure you understand: Move on. Find someone else. Marry someone else, have children with someone else. I want you to be happy, and I want you to live. Do all the things you wanted to. Finish your degree. Build a cathedral. Dream again if you'd like."

Arthur paused for a moment, as if considering his words. "I don't know how I died. I put it in my will that you'll get my ashes, so maybe I'm sitting next to you right now. I don't really care what you do with them. Throw me in the dumpster. I don't care. I just know that you're the only person I want to be with."

She was choking. There was not enough air…

"I love you," he murmured. "Sorry, I just can't say it enough. I really hope you believe me. And I don't regret a thing. Hopefully I died saving you. I hope you know that I know it was worth it. I really don't want to live without you, mostly because I don't know how to. I don't really change, Ari, but you changed me.

"But it's time to let me go, Ari."

_"It's time to let me go."_

"Hang in there," he continued. "For me. Keep living, for me, keep breathing, for me. Have an incredible life, and keep going until you don't need me at all. It may seem impossible now, but you'll be ready to one day. Got it, Ariadne?"

She swallowed and found herself nodding. "Yes, Arthur. I know."

"And if you do dream of me, make sure it's natural. Don't go under just for that."

"I won't," she whispered.

There was a short pause, and Arthur added, "The very last thing I will ask you to do is to look in the PASIV case. Specifically the vials on the left side. I think you'll find something there that will be an appendix of sorts to prove to you how determined I was to spend my life with you."

Ariadne half-glanced around for the PASIV, puzzled, but turned back quickly when Arthur spoke again.

"I'm an Atheist, so I have no idea what happens next," Arthur whispered. She felt her heart breaking all over again at the way his eyes shined with tears. "But I have to believe that I'll see you again, one day. If only to hear you say you forgive me."

"I forgive you," she croaked.

Arthur smiled. "I feel like I could talk to you forever, but I'll stop now. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you; always. Bye, Ariadne."

He leaned forward and switched the camera off.

Ariadne stared at the black screen, as the DVD player spit the DVD out. She felt like she'd been run over by a freight train. She was still crying, and felt like she would be crying for the rest of her life.

"God dammit, Arthur," she whispered. And then she stood.

She moved quickly down the hallway, ignoring Adam in the kitchen, who looked after her, bewildered. Ariadne pushed open the door to the bedroom and strode to the closet. She pulled open the doors and knelt, shoving aside clothes and shoes until she found what she was looking for: Arthur's PASIV.

Ariadne dragged it out and set it carefully down on the bed. She flicked the latches and opened it slowly, nervous about the contents.

Everything looked in order. Her eyes ran over the machinery, the center button that started the machine, the timekeeper determining how long the dream would last, the neatly coiled tubes. Her eyes located the vials that held somnacin, the vials Arthur had mentioned. All were empty (he kept them empty for safety, should someone steal the device) save for one on the end. Frowning, she grasped it and tugged it out.

At first glance, the vial appeared to be inconspicuously empty. But as Ariadne held it up the light, something caught her eye. She gasped and dropped the vial; it shattered on the floor.

Ariadne knelt, uncaring about the glass. For lying in the midst of the broken glass was a silver ring.

She didn't touch it. Instead, she brushed the glass aside, moving her face closer to inspect the ring. It looked very old; there was one large, circular diamond at the center, surrounded by a ring of smaller diamonds. Further bands of diamonds appeared to be woven behind it, before connecting into a circular band. It was absolutely stunning, and she instantly loved it.

Ariadne was swept by memories. The farmers markets, where she repeatedly mentioned her love of second-hand things; her trips to thrift shops around Paris and the Mediterranean, Arthur following her and listening to her cooing over the antique jewelry she admired.

_He knew I would've wanted an antique_, she thought to herself. And Arthur had hid the ring in a place he knew she would never find it. Only he knew how the PASIV worked, how to set it up and run it. She never dreamt without him, and when they did dream together, she let him solely get the PASIV ready. She knew, without a doubt, she would never have found the ring if Arthur hadn't told her where to find it.

Ariadne reflected on the conversation the past summer, when Arthur had brought up marriage. How she'd politely and lovingly declined, telling him that she wanted to wait to establish herself first. How Arthur had quickly agreed, and never brought the subject up again. She thought of how regretful he'd looked over the last few days, when they both realized how they'd wanted to get married, how devastated they were it hadn't happened...

_You really wanted to_, Ariadne thought, overwhelmed. _You were just waiting for me to say yes_.

She reached forward and picked up the ring, cradling it in her palm, treating it like the lost treasure it really was. It glimmered at her, flawless and gorgeous, and she could imagine telling Arthur that and his small smile as he told her, _well, I wanted a ring that personified my wife_.

Quiet footsteps interrupted her reverie, and she had to remind herself that Adam had brought the DVD to her. He hovered in the doorway, uncertain. She wiped her eyes, discreetly slipping the ring into her jeans pocket.

"You all right?" He asked. "Should I go?"

"No, no," Ariadne said hurriedly. "I'd like to talk to you, for a little bit... Let's go back to the living room."

Ariadne stood and brushed past Adam, leading the way to the living room. He followed her silently. She nodded at the couch and he hesitantly sat on it.

"I heard a lot of that," he admitted. "Er, the video, I mean."

"That's fine," she murmured. "Adam… I can't thank you enough."

He shrugged. "All I did was get on a plane to Paris. Wasn't too hard. Arthur really did all the work…"

Ariadne leaned back in her armchair, fiddling with the sleeves of an old Harvard sweatshirt that Arthur used to wear when he went on runs. She wiped her eyes hurriedly, aware of how she must've looked.

"I can't believe he's gone," she whispered.

Adam swallowed. "Ariadne… There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

She looked at him, confused. Adam took a deep breath.

"I'm a trauma surgeon at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center," Adam explained. "On October 20th, the day my brother told me he would die, we got an emergency call from the Fischer-Morrow power plant. Saying there were gunshots and numerous injuries from stray bullets and broken windows. And I just… I had a feeling that Arthur would be there. Call it twin-tuition. Was I…?"

"Yes," Ariadne breathed. "We were hired by Peter Browning to do a… job, on Robert Fischer."

Adam nodded, unsurprised. "Right. He told me about Browning. Anyway, I volunteered to go with the paramedics to the scene."

From faraway, Ariadne remembered passing numerous ambulances speeding past them as they fled the power plant…

"It was crazy," Adam murmured. "I was part of the second wave, so firemen, paramedics and police officers were already there; a couple ambulances were already going to different hospitals. Workers were panicking… I went with the paramedics into a conference room, and a man there—Robert Fischer, actually—said that his godfather had been shot. He said the man's name was Peter Browning. Well, he was definitely dead. His neck was blown out…"

"Arthur shot him," Ariadne said.

Adam grimaced. "Well, if he meant to kill the guy, he did it. Browning probably didn't feel a thing. As soon as I found out it was him, I knew that Arthur had been there. So I told the policemen that I was pretty sure my brother was there, hurt…"

"Oh my God," Ariadne gasped. "Adam, did you find him?"

He looked at her, an odd smile playing on his features. "You watched Arthur fall into an elevator shaft. And let me tell you: they found a ton of blood at the bottom of an elevator shaft. I saw it myself, and I remember it, because it was weird. And it was weird, because there was no body."

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Ariadne gaped at Adam, uncertain, wanting to believe…

"Ariadne… _There was no body_."

"What are you saying?" She croaked.

"They turned the place inside-out," Adam said quickly. "Trying to find the poor bastard who left that blood behind. I stayed there all day, waiting to hear. When they didn't find him, I assumed that meant Arthur was alive. Because those guys, they would've known who he was, right? He told me there was a company that wanted him dead for 2.5 million dollars. And we got there so quickly…"

"Cobol," she confirmed. "But how do you know they didn't pay anyone?"

Adam flushed. "I have a friend in the military, a man named Jonah Mellark. He went to boot camp with Arthur; they used to be best friends. Arthur actually reconnected with Jonah right before he died, so I knew I could go to him. He can get into Cobol's systems, and he said there hasn't been anything about Arthur." He carried on. "So I was really surprised when he didn't call. He said to assume that meant he died, so I came here. I was hoping you would tell me that you managed to get his body out of there…"

"I didn't," she murmured. She felt like her skin was tingling. "Adam, what are you saying?"

He took a deep breath. "For all intents and purposes, judging by the evidence, my brother is dead. But part of me wants to believe someone got him out alive. That he's recovering somewhere. Or maybe he's being held against his will somewhere, being tortured again for information on his team." Adam looked at her, his gaze piercing. "I thought my brother was dead for nine years, just because I trusted the word of the military and buried a coffin. I accepted I would never see him again. And then he shows up in my mother's kitchen. And now… Well, it just doesn't seem like much of a stretch to think he might still be alive somewhere."

Ariadne didn't know what to do, or say to that. Her mind was replaying Arthur's fall, but this time, he fell only ten feet. He managed to pick himself up and hide, staying silent, until he was rescued…

"I was part of the second rescue team," Adam said, as if he could read her thoughts. "I scoured hospitals in L.A., trying to find his body in the morgue, or something. I knew I would never get a call about identification, because my brother legally died in 2002. And I couldn't get into the I.C.U.s, where it sounds like he would probably be, because I'm absolutely certain he would've used a fake name, and those records are sealed closed. Even if my military friends hacked the system, there's no way I could pick out Arthur."

"You think he's alive," she whispered.

Adam shrugged. "I don't know. But I have hope that I'll see him again. Maybe in ten days… Maybe in twenty years. I can only hope."

"Adam," Ariadne said. "Thank you."

"Just don't put all your eggs in one basket," Adam said quickly. "It sounds like he's probably dead. But… I don't know. 'Little thieves are hanged, but great ones escape', remember? This is Arthur."

Adam stayed for another half an hour, during which they talked about everything but Arthur. Ariadne found herself agreeing to meet his mother over her school's spring break, and visiting Adam and his family in Los Angeles. Adam also promised to come to her graduation in May.

"Just because at least one Zaleski should," he joked.

She led him to the door when he said he had to catch his plane home. He and Lily were spending Christmas with her family in Oakland.

As he took a step to leave, she grabbed his arm. "Adam, wait."

He turned, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she stood on her toes and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Adam's jaw went slack with shock, but before he could react, she stepped away.

"Definitely not Arthur," she said. "Sorry. I had to check."

He managed to laugh. "Take care of yourself, Ariadne. And if you hear anything…"

"I'll let you know," she promised. "Thank you, Adam. For everything."

He raised a hand in farewell and walked away.

Ariadne walked back into her apartment. The place was silent and utterly still. She stood in the center of it for a moment, taking it in, until she realized the Tracy Chapman record was scratching. She hurried to it, pulling it out and returning it to its proper place. She glanced at the DVD, still resting in the player.

_"I'm always with you…"_

Was it possible?

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the totem. She set it down and flicked it. The bishop fell as it was supposed to.

Ariadne walked back to her armchair, sitting in it and curling up, clutching her cold mug of black coffee. She raised it to her mouth and inhaled, letting the familiar scent waft over her.

_"Tomorrow. Promise me that you will try. That you won't just lay down and let them kill you. Try to survive._"

"_I will. I'll try_."

Ariadne slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out the ring. It rested on her palm: a possibility. She picked it up and slid it on her left hand ring finger, knowing that Arthur, in all his perfectionism, would've ensured it fit perfectly, and it did. She looked at it, as it glittered in the dying light from the sunset, and she saw it for what it was: a promise.

She smiled sadly and looked out the window.

"Always," she murmured.

**I know many of you will hate the ambiguous ending, but let me explain why I chose it: One, I love ambiguous endings. I love letting the reader decide the end of the story they've invested so much time and energy into. Two, "Inception" had an ambiguous ending. This is a fan fic, so it should follow that, right?**

**Three, this is Arthur. His whole life has been a mystery. Makes sense his death is controversial, too.**

**Mr. Nolan has stated he likes to think Cobb was awake at the end of "Inception," if only because he wanted Cobb to have that happy ending with his family. I, too, would like to believe that Arthur is alive somewhere after this story, but I think a good argument can be made either way, and a theme in this story was sacrifice and letting go. Only Adam and Ariadne have hope that Arthur might be alive, and even then, their hope is a hesitant one.**

**SEQUEL: Yikes. I don't know. I'm still shocked I managed to finish this sucker. I wrote an outline for a sequel, and I've written four chapters, but I've been busy working on other personal projects. What do you want? Should I wait to finish (like I did with this fic) before posting a sequel? Or post as I go? (The sequel would have Ariadne as the hero, trying to find Arthur, if you were curious.)**

**I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read, favorite and follow this, with a special emphasis on the people who also took the time to review. Knowing that people cared enough about this story and the characters to drop a line was such a motivator and gave me the strength to keep posting. I'm awfully self-critical, so often times, reviews were all that kept me posting. But it's all over now, so might as well tell me what you really think: like it? hate it? Do you think Arthur's alive? What's next for Ariadne? Cobb? Eames? Micah, even?**

**And again, thank you for your time.**

**Addison (nowarning23)**


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